


Saving Him

by consciousness_streaming



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consciousness_streaming/pseuds/consciousness_streaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing everything in the Final Battle, Hermione travels back to Tom Riddle's first year in order to keep an eye on his future death eaters and to find a way to prevent the war. What actually happens is that she accidentally befriends him while going through adolescence for the second time.  WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been up on fanfiction.net for a while, and since I've fallen in love with AO3, I decided to put it up here. So, don't think this has been stolen if you've already read it there.

September 1, 1936

Hermione came to on the floor of the Room of Requirement, sure of what she was to do. Slowly and cautiously she made her way down to the Great Hall for the Sorting. As she was supposed to be with the other first-years in the lake-side entrance, she waited for a several minutes for the group to pass her on their own way to the Sorting. 

The group followed an older looking professor, a tall thin man with dark black hair that looked blue in the candle-lit halls. His face betrayed his age, crow's feet and laugh lines around his mouth. He looked stern. Maybe that was a requirement for leading in the first-years, she thought as she recalled her first Sorting, some fifty years in the future, as Professor McGonagall led them that go-round. 

Hermione quietly joined the back of the group, trying to look around in wonder like it was the first time she had seen these halls. Hopefully none of the other firsties noticed that they hadn't seen her on the train. She was counting on them thinking she was elsewhere so that it wouldn't be obvious she literally appeared out of nowhere.

The crowd of eleven-year-olds cantered on, some already with tenuous friendships, and others like Hermione herself, who walked alone. 

The stern professor led them directly to the Great Hall doors and turned to speak. “Here we are, young ones.” His voice did not match his body, Hermione noticed. His body suggested an austere voice, but what actually came out was a melodious sound that immediately set Hermione on edge. Maybe it was the bleak times she had grown up in, but she found it hard to trust people who were that...jovial. 

“Now, remember what I told you about the Sorting. After you have been Sorted, please take your seat at your House table. Alright, in we go!” With that, he threw the doors open, a light breeze ruffling Hermione's hair as she stood awkwardly at the back.

With a quick look around to make sure no one was watching her, Hermione magically added her name to the roster. 

The Sorting went relatively quickly, and Hermione spent her time fluctuating between vigorously memorized as many of the names as she could, paying particular attention to the Blacks of the group, and having her mind wander to inane topics that had nothing to do with the present. Hoping it was just a mild side effect of the spell that brought her here, she struggled to pay attention but had noticed that every few letters she had missed three or four students entirely. However, she did notice when her own name was called, and she proudly walked over to the stool and placed the old hat onto her bushy head.

Ah, young one, you have already been Sorted have you not?

You can tell that? I won't be here for another fifty years.

I can see my own decision in your memories, girl. The question now is where you would like to be placed. I see the importance of your mission. I rarely do this, but in your case I would like to ask which house would serve you best?

Hermione thought for about ten seconds, arriving at her decision faster than she thought possible.

Slytherin, please. Gryffindor would hold too many memories, and keeping in close quarters with the Slytherins would make spying on them that much easier.

Okay, missy. The best of luck on your life in “SLYTHERIN!”

The newest addition to Slytherin smiled triumphantly, maybe this would be easier than she thought. With her head held high and determined to make a good impression, Hermione made her way to the bare spot in a sea of green where her fellow first-years had taken up residency. She received a regal nod from 'Black, Cygnus' and curious looks from her other two companions, whose names she hadn't caught. 

The older professor from before continued calling out names, and soon enough 'Malfoy, Abraxas' joined their coterie, seating himself next to Black and immediately striking up a conversation, as they were obviously already well acquainted. 

I didn't think about that. All of the pure-blooded elite mix and mingle so much that their children are bound to know each other. More importantly, they are bound to know that I am not one of them. I'll have to make up an elaborate story later on when I give Dumbledore the letter from himself. That's a weird thought.

Hermione got caught up in her own thoughts again as the last few first-years were sorted. By the time she snapped out of it, a small boy with black hair was taking the very last spot designated for the newcomers, the bench just to Hermione's right. She looked up to see who she assumed to be Headmaster Dippet standing to make the annual speech to start the feast.

He, however, vastly varied from her own recollections of Dumbledore's speeches, because instead of making all the important announcements after the feast, when the children were more prone to listen, he rambled on for a good fifteen minutes just about the Forbidden Forest and its many dangers. Hermione was trying hard to listen to him, she really was. The idea of listening to respected elders was so ingrained in her personality that she vehemently tried, she was the only one immune to Binns' lectures, after all, but even she gave up towards the end. 

One look around the table confirmed that she was, literally, the last one to remain listening. Until she looked at the raven-headed boy to her right. His pale face still gazed towards the Head table, and a closer look to check if his eyes had glazed over, proved that he was still paying attention. On top of that, his silvery blue eyes held more than just attention, they held wonder. So different from the jaded children around them, all pure-blooded and bored with stories about Hogwarts by now. He was different.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie when the feast magically appeared before them all, to the delight of all the students around the hall. Still curious about her neighbor, she caught his movements out of the corner of her eye. He jumped, startled, as the food materialized. The others noticed him flinch, along with Hermione, and one boy had the temerity to sneer at him.

The founder of S.P.E.W. and all-around defender of the underdog did not take that well. She sat as straight as she could and copied the snobbish look she'd seen on Malfoy's pinched face for as long as she could remember, and turned to the perpetrator. Her eyes blazed into his, a glare of Snape-like caliber on her face. Luckily he showed good sense and hung his head, apologetically. Satisfied, she turned to the newest addition.

“Hello. My name is Hermione.”

“Hello.” He responded, sounding confident in himself, though he barely looked it as the wonder had not yet left his eyes. Awkwardly, he turned back to his food, scarfing it down like Ron would. That thought alone made Hermione smile. This boy, whose name she still didn't know, brought out something in her. She had no idea how to put it, but seeing the look on his face at his obvious first time in Hogwarts, made her feel maternal towards him. She wanted to take care of him. Something in him called to her and she realized, though they had spoken but a few words, that he was a kindred spirit.

He was socially awkward as exemplified by his abrupt end to their conversation, and his table manners were lacking, but the innocence that poured out of him appealed to her. The other first-years talked amongst themselves, avoiding the two outcasts. They were all giving accounts of their summer and catching up on pure-blood gossip. 

Having no interest in such things, nor even the knowledge of those gossiped about, Hermione sat quietly taking in the Hall's differences to her own time. The Head table was a bit different and certainly the professors were different, with the exception of Dumbledore and a much-younger Flitwick, but overall the Hall had changed very little, a large comfort to Hermione.

To her right, the pale-faced boy had finally started to slow down on his food and was taking in the Hall as well. She heard him gasp as he looked at the ceiling.

“It's enchanted to reflect the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History before I came.” She told him.

“But how could anyone, or anything for that matter, change a ceiling to reflect the sky. I mean, it's not like glass or anything. It kind of blends into the room.” He seemed like he didn't even realize he was talking out loud.

“There are many magical things about Hogwarts. I'll lend you the book, if you'd like. It's a very interesting read.”

For the first time, he looked at her fully. Then he smiled a crooked smile. For some reason it was infectious and it made her smile too. Something told her that he didn't often smile like that, and so she took it as a gift that he would bestow it on her.

“I would like that very much Hermione. Thank you.” Oh, so he was listening when she gave him her name. “I've already read all my course books a few times, but I would love to know more about the castle.”

The girl across from them with a nose suspiciously reminiscent of Pansy Parkinson heard that and laughed. “You already read all your books? Why would you do that?”

He looked at her like she was an idiot. Hermione unknowingly gave her the same look. “Because I wanted to be prepared for classes. I'm planning on being first in our year.”

“That's a load of bubotober pus. You're obviously not pure-blood, how could you possibly beat one of us?”

“Well you're obviously an idiot, so I'm sure it won't be all that hard, will it?”

Brilliant. Hermione's thoughts of a kindred spirit were confirmed. Her heart lept with a momentary happiness. Perhaps she would not be so lonely, perhaps she would be able to have a friend here.

The idiot girl prattled on, “Well we'll see at the end of term when you're last because all you can do is read the books but can't do the actual magic. Muggles don't have it, you see.”

“I am not a muggle, you—“

Hermione spoke before she had even realized her mouth was open, “I've read all the books as well.”

The pug faced girl looked her up and down, decided she wasn't worth it, and sneered, “Well then you're both freaks.”

Hermione caught her companion's eye, rolling her own. He smiled another one of those smiles, and Hermione had made her first friend.

“You read them all too?”

“Wouldn't've said it if I hadn't.”

“You're Hermione?”

“That's correct.”

“Hi Hermione, I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.”

…......................................

As Hermione made her way to the Slytherin first-year girl's dormitory, she reflected back on her first friend in 1936. She went back through the conversation before and after his startling announcement, and all she could think was that nothing changed. She still considered him a friend, and considered herself his. 

Then she had a minor freakout while brushing her teeth. How could she be okay with that? Would she not be betraying everything she had fought for since she gained entry into the Wizarding World? Is she stabbing Harry in the back by befriending his arch-nemesis? 

No. Harry isn't even born yet, and if I complete my mission the way it's supposed to happen, then he won't even be the same boy I knew and loved anyway. You can't betray someone if they don't even exist.

Her meeting with Dumbledore had gone surprisingly well. Maybe this sort of thing happened to him often. Or maybe he was just a bit mad, as Ron would say. Hermione had previously thought his old age had made him a bit... erm, eccentric, but now she was siding more and more with Ron. The best Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen, would ever see, is going to see... confusing. Either way, Albus Dumbledore was just plain barmy. But weirdly, that was part of his charm.

He didn't even blink when she asked for, okay demanded, a meeting with him after the feast, even though she was sorted into Slytherin, and a mere slip of a girl what with her body resembling what it had in her own first year. When he read the letter detailing her mission—from himself—he just nodded benignly. The Head of Gryffindor seemed stuck on the phrase “love is the greatest gift of all.” Kind of a general statement in her book, but she saw his eyes read that part of his letter several times. Without a word about it though, he merely asked if there was anything else he could do to help and unnecessarily warned her not to share her secret with anyone.

Dumbledore left her with a secret smile on his face, like he read more into his letter than she had. Shaking her head with begrudging resignation, she had left his office and made her way to the dungeons hoping to run into a Slytherin prefect. Dumbledore would always be an enigma. If he had, indeed, read more into the situation than Hermione, then she wouldn't know what he was thinking until he told her. No point in getting herself worked up over a point she would lose anyway.

When taking her old personality into consideration, Hermione realized that she had matured much more than physically before being sent back. When she really was an eleven-year-old girl she would never have even noticed that look cross his face, let alone stand for being left in the dark.

The dungeons were cold. Remarkably, in her tenure as a student before, a lifetime ago, the ex-Gryffindor never gave much thought as to how the Slytherin's lived except for a brief adventure into the world of illicit potion making to invade their world. But that was a brief time in the seven-year span spent at the world's best school of Wizardry, and it ranked low on the adventure scale explored by she and her two counterparts.

The cold had hit her like a brick when she first entered the dungeons, but the warmth of summer lingered in her bones so it didn't phase her much. Hours later, though, the cold had remained and any warmth not fought for vigorously had departed. The dreary common room's fireplaces, all six of them, were well tended to as evidenced by the clean up-keep.

Merlin knew the Slytherins themselves did not keep them so pristine, but they must have ordered the House-elves to. To her delight she found study desks filtered across the room, mostly grouped together near the fires to add to what little warmth could be accrued. 

How could it possibly be this cold here? It's only September. I hope it doesn't get much colder in the Winter. Here's hoping.

Unlike the Gryffindor dormitories, the Slytherin girls had much more room to spread out. Each of the four beds had a partition-like feel to it, making a small cubby out of each girls' space. Perhaps the need for secrecy in Slytherin submerged itself so directly into its subjects' subconscious that even mundane things such as beds were sanctioned off in the name of privacy. Who knew?

Hermione, the Pug-faced chit, and two twin girls with blonde hair and red cheeks settled themselves into their respective beds. The twins and Puggy already knew each other and were excitedly carrying on about all the Slytherin boys. Hermione discreetly rolled her eyes. Even at seventeen she couldn't stand such talk.

After coming out of their shared bathroom, completing her nightly rituals, the outsider caught the eyes of one of the twins. Now that Hermione got a closer look at the girls, she noticed minute differences. This twin, whatever her name, had a sincere smile upon her face and kindness in her eyes. Meanwhile her sister whispered with Pug-nut maliciously, a smirk gracing her red cheeks.

The kind twin looked to her friends, as if unsure of her actions, then looked back at Hermione. Her shoulders straightened and she spoke as if someone had dared her. “Hello. My name is Natasha Nott.”

Slightly stunned, but quickly recovering, Hermione jumped in. “Hello. My name is Hermione Dumbledore, I am very pleased to meet you Natasha.”

Puggy and evil twin just about died of shock, and Puggy herself fell off of her bed.  
Hermione struggled to stifle her giggle. She had already come off on the wrong foot, she didn't need to add to that. Puggy stuck her foot in though.

“You're a Dumbledore?”

“Yes, I was Sorted as such just a few hours ago. If you must know, Professor Dumbledore is my great-uncle. That's why I was late arriving in the dungeons, he wished to speak with me.” Okay, small lie. She had basically forced herself into his office (she guessed McGonagall's office as it was the Transfiguration professor's office).

“Oh, so you are a Pure-blood. Well good. I was so worried we'd have to share space with a Half-blood. Or worse, a Mudblood!” Puggy visibly shuddered.

The nasty twin piped in, “Merlin, no! They don't allow such trash in Slytherin House. Everybody knows that.” Apparently this was supposed to be of comfort to her friend. Hermione wanted to vomit. Or laugh. Sadly, both were inappropriate. 

“Yes, well, my family doesn't socialize as much as the other Pure-blood families but that doesn't make us any less Pure.” What a load of rubbish she was spewing out. Harry would love this acting job she was doing. Continuing, she added, “So you are Natasha,” looking at the kind blond, “and I haven't gotten your names yet.”

“This is my sister Annabelle, and our dear friend Pugnella.”

Oh sweet Merlin, her name was Pugnella? Could that have been any more ironic? Suddenly Hermione felt a coughing fit come upon her. Well, a coughing fit poorly disguising her hysterical laughter.

“Annabelle, Pugnella, I am so pleased to meet the both of you.” She replied graciously and offering a courteous nod.

All three girls warmed to her after their discovery of her blood purity status. Hermione decided for the next seven years' sake that she would throw them a bone and not hold this against them. But survival of a war tended to depend on being able to trust your friends and allies, and Hermione trusted neither of them as far as she could throw them. They would not catch her with her guard down.

..............................................................................

The next day at breakfast the Slytherin first-year girls, minus Hermione, went down to breakfast together giggling and cackling madly with excitement. Their newest acquaintance, on the other hand, lethargically consigned herself to marching off to breakfast, never having been a morning person. Her apathy stemmed from having to repeat first-year courses, courses that she had no trouble with when she herself was actually in them the first time!

The only part of the day that held any interest for her was seeing how the school ran in this time period, and the differences between the life of a Gryffindor and the life of a Slytherin. She would have to devote herself to cataloging the differences religiously or she would slowly go insane with boredom. 

Hopefully the library hadn't changed much and she could throw herself into private study—perhaps Occlumency. She had a feeling she could be good at that if she put her mind to it. No pun intended.

In the back of her mind she also had to admit that if Tom did follow the path to becoming Lord Voldemort, the world's best Legilimens, then maybe she should invest in the best Occlumency shields she could. A few years' head start could only help matters.

This train of thought ended as she entered the Great Hall for her first day. Looking for any familiar faces, or any kind looking faces, she approached the Slytherin table hesitantly. 

Tom looked up from the far end, his silver eyes meeting her own brown. That feeling of similarity overtook her once again. Hermione was even more confused this time, especially now that she knew who this little boy was, who he would become. Why was she feeling so connected to him? Regardless, she marched over to him and sat down beside him, determined that even if he had a change of heart in the last ten hours or so, she would still sit there no matter how nasty he was or whatever he said.

Her fears proved fruitless, however, and as she took her seat he gave her a restrained smile, almost as if his fears were the same.

“Good morning, Tom.”

“Good morning, Hermione. Here, try the bangers and mash. I've never had anything as good as these.”

A smile found its way onto her face. He was such a dichotomy. Here she was talking about such mundane things with Voldemort of all people. But simultaneously, he was still just a (semi) innocent eleven-year old boy. Ugh, this would take some getting used to. If only Ron and Harry were here to help her on this adventure.

Thinking of them brought a grimace to her face—their deaths haunted her, dogged her every pleasant feeling hoping to absorb it, much like a dementor. They've been dead for over a year now, Hermione, she told herself. Time to be a big girl now. With that, she pushed them back into her brain farther, not allowing such unsavory topics, like her best friends' brutal murders by the boy sitting next to her, mar her new-found friendship with said boy

Quickly Tom picked up on her discomfort, perceptive boy that he is, and with such humbleness that it almost moved her to tears, tried to quell the darkness threatening to swallow her. He placed his hand on her forearm, reverently.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Funny how that question drove her insane for an entire year, the condescension palpable from each speakers' voice. But when this pale, under-fed little boy asked it she could feel his sincerity and responded respectfully and truthfully. 

“Tom, I won't lie to you. I'm not completely okay, but I will be. Right now something just hit me.”

“You do not act like an eleven-year-old.” Shit!

“Well neither do you.”

He nodded, as if conceding her point. “True enough I suppose.”  
“Unfortunately everyone else in our year does. Puggy and her twin consorts—“

“Puggy? There's a girl named Puggy?”

Hermione smirked with an evil glint, “She was that delightful creature we had the pleasure of conversing with last night. Her name is actually Pugnella, but her nose suggests her parents named her after the popular muggle dog. I figure if the nose fits...” She left the sentence dangling. 

Tom giggled, his humor and appreciation of her cutting wit shining in his eyes. Just like her he could never let anyone out-do him, so he added, “Yes well, I rather thought she just had an acute olfactory sense and that beast of a sixth year next to her had forgotten to bathe the night before.”

Hermione laughed along with him. Funny how easy conversation with him flowed.

Just then the old professor from the night before, whom Hermione had come to realize went by the name of Professor Howard H. Mendallyn, came around the table with schedules, buzzing from one student to the next like a bee pollinating flowers.

He stopped to have a word or two with several of the prominent members of Slytherin House, Malfoy and Black especially, before thrusting Tom's and Hermione's at them without so much as a by your leave. A young Horace Slughorn sat at the Head table looking over at the older professor with something akin to hero worship on his face. Hermione made the connection in her head.

Did all Slytherin's Head of Houses act like their job was a popularity contest? If so, her time period's Slytherin's must have been in a real shock with Snape, though he participated to a degree.

Ah well, with time old Mendallyn would be eating out of her hand just based on her course work alone.

“So what subject are you most excited for Tom?”

“I can't wait to try out Charms. History of Magic also sounds interesting. I wonder if muggle history varies much from Wizarding history?”

“I guess we'll find out since we have it first. Class starts in twenty minutes. Want to go early with me? You can read Hogwarts, A History while we wait.” She said as she pulled the tome in question out of her new bag.

“I was going to go early anyway, but that just sweetens the deal, Hermione.”

With that the two friends finished up their breakfasts at breakneck speed and hurried off to the History of Magic classroom with the (incorrect) directions of a sixth-year Slytherin prefect. Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't supposed to know all the routes to the classes, so she had to go along with the horrible directions and allow Tom to figure out for himself that they were in the wrong place.

After three unsuccessful attempts to find the classroom, Hermione was glad they left so early and Tom was frustrated with his failure. Hermione noticed his negative emotions boiling under the surface, something she learned to do with Harry “The Brooder” Potter as her best friend, and encouraged him to laugh at the situation rather than let it eat at him.

Eventually he lightened up, and they made their way to the classroom, this time correctly. Professor Binns still taught the class, and it was still soporific. More so, even. 

The ex-Gryffindor didn't even try to stay awake this go through. For one thing, she knew all the information already anyway, and for another, she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. This time through Hogwarts, Hermione would still be at the top of her class, she would still take her studies seriously, but no longer would she rub it in her peers' faces. Snape may have been on to something when he degraded her for constantly raising her hand, calling her a know-it-all. Perhaps her own tendencies to try to prove herself though knowledge of a world that rejected her only further isolated her. This was counter-productive.

Yes, this time she would focus on her friendships and her outside projects. 

…..............................................................

After Hermione's revelation in History of Magic, she settled into a comfortable routine. Weeks passed in the monotony of first-year classes. She and Tom developed a study schedule that they stuck to religiously and together they explored other avenues of magic that some seventh-years hadn't even heard of. 

Friendship with Tom just felt natural, like breathing. He didn't rely on her academically, unlike other best friends she could name (Harry... Ron). He also had a very unique personality and perception of the world. As individuals they varied greatly, their methods of research and studying were equally intense, but differed in the process. Also, they reacted differently to just about everything: their peers, their lessons, their professors (Tom still hated Dumbledore). However, what drove them together was their complementary natures, while they reacted differently, the two best friends could still understand why the other acted they way they did. This was something she had barely reached with Harry, never Ron, and even then it was only one-sided. She could sometimes predict his actions, and usually could hazard a guess at his reasonings behind his actions.

Tom was different, though. And not in a future-Voldemort-wants-to-kill-every-muggle-and/or-muggle-born kind of way. That still bothered her, and admittedly kept her awake some nights with the guilt of it all. But she was trying to move on. Harry and Ron and her entire life were dead and gone. There was no reason to feel guilty and no one to answer to anyway. All she had of her future life in this time was her memories, and those she treasured and abhorred equally. They were to be remembered with humility, but they were not to govern her life now.

Logically, Hermione knew this. It was another thing to put it into practice, however. Mostly she strived to keep herself so busy that she wouldn't think about any of that until her dreams morphed into ghoulish versions of her dearest friends and respected mentors.

Months passed, assignments were assigned, completed, graded, and returned. Halloween came, went and was soon followed by Christmas.

As the lists came around, Hermione swallowed her pride and signed her name to stay at Hogwarts. Puggy and her minions laughed at her, mocking her, saying the Dumbledores wouldn't want the only Slytherin in their clan anymore. This was completely inaccurate, but still it rankled her. Then it bothered her that it bothered her. Tom didn't quite know how to deal with her that week, so he mostly just kept quiet and told her he liked her shoes. 

Hermione smiled indulgently. She had been wearing the same shoes all year. It was then that it occurred to her how much of a nightmare she must have been if he had to resort to complimenting her shoes to placate her.

“I'm sorry Tom. I know I've been difficult this past week.” She said at dinner that night as Professor Mendallyn came around signing students up to stay for Christmas.

“That's all right, Hermione. I've been told that girls can get that way sometimes and us boys are to just grin and bear it.”

“That's usually referring to... Yes, you're quite right. Still, I apologize.” He smiled at her, digging into his potatoes.

“So, are you going home for Christmas?” He tried to ask this casually, and to anyone else his acting would have been believed, for truly it was a superb performance. Yet, Hermione saw through him. It was in the way he didn't meet her eyes. Tom rarely didn't make eye contact with whoever he was conversing with. That was one of the most unusual things about him, his uncanny confidence at such a young age. He spoke like he knew he was right and he looked at everyone like he was their superior. Except Hermione. He looked at her as an equal.

“No, no I'm not. I must admit I'm not very close with my family.” She had delayed telling him her made-up background story for as long as she could. It couldn't be put off forever. “My parents died a long time ago.” True. “And I was raised mostly by family friends.” Also true, if the Order of the Phoenix could be considered family friends. Not that she would even be raised by them as she was seventeen when her parents were murdered on the order of the boy next to her. “They're all busy with their own families, now, so I don't really want to intrude, anyway. So I'm staying here for as long as I can.”

He looked at her sadly, with empathy in his eyes. Tom Riddle and empathy, never put those together before this year, she thought to herself. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. Then he spoke in a beguiling whisper, so softly she had to learn toward him to hear anything, still smelling the potatoes on his breath.

“I have nowhere to go, either. My mother died giving birth to me. She was a witch, you know. She tricked my father into loving her with a love potion. I'm pretty sure, I mean, that's the only way. Still, my father, the bastard that he is, he.. he.. he abandoned us and wants nothing to do with me. Stupid muggle!” Tom's eyes flashed indignantly, and for the first time in the four months she'd gotten to know him, she saw the portion of him that could tread that dangerous path to the Darkness.

After his confession he looked shocked at himself, “Oh! Hermione, please don't tell!”

“Calm down, Tom. All your secrets are safe with me.”

“I just... you know how all the Slytherins are about blood purity. Please don't tell anyone I'm a half-blood.”

Hermione was surprised that this is the bit he didn't want her to tell. He was more focused on the blood purity portion of the story than the fact the he had been abandoned.

“Like I said, Tom. Your secrets are always safe with me.” She told him seriously. Adding a bit of levity, she continued, “Besides, who do I have to tell, anyway? Puggy McSquished-nose? I rather think not!”

He laughed, and she smiled at how wonderful making him laugh made her feel. A confession and a laugh all in one dinner. Remarkable.

“Tom. Don't berate yourself about your muggle father abandoning you. Muggles are not as horrible as they have been in your experience. Those family friends that raised me? Well, don't tell anyone, but most of them were muggles. That's how I know so much about both worlds.”

He looked at her in awe. Then he slowly nodded, like he was taking her words to heart. Dinner resumed for the duo, and when Mendallyn finally made his way to them (after taking care to flatter each powerful pure-blood family) they both calmly added their names to the list, bringing the number of Slytherins staying to a staggering two.

Tom and Hermione spent the rest of the term studying and exploring the castle together. Their confessions to each other brought about a new-found closeness in the friendship. Already fast friends, the two tops of the first-year class gleaned a deeper understanding of the other.

With all her knowledge of Lord Voldemort's life: the orphanage, hating muggles, opening the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione had never thought of how those events affected Tom as a person, rather than Voldemort the psychopath. Here, in Tom's home turf, she was able to separate the two. Her life in the future allowed her to analyze the events' affects on Voldemort, but the empathy that comes from loving a friend that she discovered in this time enabled her to see the young eleven-year-old boy as just that—a boy.

Any residual guilt she had been trying to repress disappeared completely by the end of term. The two best friends spent Christmas together, Tom's first not only in the Wizarding world, but with someone who gave a damn about him.

Christmas Eve found Hermione sitting in the library studying another Occlumency text. Tom sat next to her, his legs propped up on the study desk, and his hair slightly mussed from running his hand through it in frustration.

“Hermione, I wish you would tell me why you are studying that. You won't tell me anything about it. Don't you trust me?”

They had this conversation several times over the last month. Tom would always ask a variation of this question and Hermione would skillfully dodge it without hurting his feelings. This time felt different to her, though. 

“And don't even try to change the subject this time, either. I let you get away with it the last few times because I could see that it unnerved you, but this time I can't.” She looked over at him then, and wished she hadn't. The pleading look in his changing silver eyes demolished her resolve and she found herself breaking. The final nail in the coffin came when Tom added in a whisper, “You're my best friend. Please tell me.”

Hermione's heart melted. She still saw the little boy who looked around the Great Hall in awestruck wonder. Knowing what she did of his past life in the orphanage, the feminine half of their duo once again felt that connection to him. Joy came to her then. He sincerely considers me his best friend. And strangely, I consider him mine. Not even Harry understood me as well as him. He even knows when I am trying to steer a conversation, and sometimes even lets me get away with it. So perceptive for one so young.

“You consider me your best friend?” 

He looked away, blushing. “Well, yes. You are my only friend, that makes you the best of them doesn't it?” Hard to argue with an eleven-year old genius' logic.

“Yes, I suppose it does. Thank you.” She smiled beatifically at him. “For the record, I consider you mine as well.”

“Good. If I am going to be your friend, I want to be the best.” Hermione stifled a laugh at his determination to be the best. The boy literally expected the world of himself. Suddenly he turned back to her, a hard look in his eyes, “You did it again, Hermione!”

“I'm sorry, I was honestly just happy!”

“Please tell me, Hermione. You know I won't tell anyone.”

“Well, alright. Since you're my best friend, I guess.” She replied, teasing him.

“So what is this Occlumency and why are you studying it? I've tried to check out a book on it while you weren't looking, but you've checked them all out already.” Ha, of course he had tried that, that's why she checked them all out.

“Calm down, I'll tell you. Just let me talk.”

“Fine.” She shot him a fake glare. Then laughed slightly when he looked put out.

“Where I come from there is a dark wizard who threatens—“

“Grindelwald?”

“Tom, let me just talk, please. I won't ask you again.”

“Sorry.” At least he looked sorry, that's more than Harry and Ron ever did for interrupting her. Boys. They are so universal. Do we ever really change as humans?

“Er, Hermione. Are you going to continue or..?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. The dark wizard gaining strength is one of the world's foremost Legilimens.” Tom looked confused. “That means he can read minds with the aid of magic.” Now she was getting into her lecture mode. Her companion recognized this and smiled fondly. “The only way a witch or wizard can countermand the onslaught of Legilimency is through the practice of Occlumency, or the shielding of one's mind. I just thought, I dunno, that if anyone were to attack me this way, I would be very vulnerable. So when Uncle Albus told me about it, I made an oath that I would attempt to learn it. Even if I never become a master at it, I will have at least tried.

Now I'm glad I decided to study it, because the theory behind it and the disciple involved are very complicated, and you know me, I love a good academic challenge. The only problem is that I have no idea if I'm learning anything or not because I don't have a Legilimens around to try to get into my mind.”

“Wow, can I learn with you? That sounds fascinating.”

“I don't know, Tom.” She said apprehensively.

“But, think about it. If both of us learn Legilimency and Occlumency, then we can practice on each other. Just as you said, your biggest problem right now is not knowing if you're making progress or not. Let me help.” His gray eyes pleaded with her, the excitement in them evident. Just then he broke into an expression she had never seen on his face. 

“Oh no! How can I say no to that puppy dog face? It's hypnotizing me with its sadness. Oh, alright fine.”

His whole face lit up and he threw his feet off the desk so that he could reach over and hug her quickly. 

“Mr. Riddle, what was that for?” He smiled sheepishly.

“I was just excited. Can't a guy hug his best friend when he's excited?”

“Of course he can, I was just teasing you. You hug me anytime you want Tom, okay?”

And after that he did.

…................................................

The next day Hermione woke up impossibly early. Stretched across the bottom of her bed lay a small pile of presents. Pathetic, really, when compared to other years she could recall. But, with the death of her parents (primary gift-givers) and the Weasley clan in another time, her well of gift givers was running rather dry.

Not that she really expected tons of gifts, or needed them. Hermione was never one to expect gifts from people, or get mad when the gift wasn't to her taste. No, she was more of the sentiment-behind-the-gift-is-everything kind of girl. 

So when a grubby package tied in a green ribbon that look like it had been chewed rather than cut cleanly caught her eye, her heart exploded with joy. Tom. No one else would have such little experience wrapping presents. 

She perused her other three gifts first, saving the best for last. One was from Dumbledore. Perhaps he felt he should give her a gift for propriety's sake. He was, after all, supposed to be her uncle. Or great uncle. Something like that.

She smiled fondly at his gift, a Put-Outter he invented himself. There was literally only two in the world, assuming he made her one and kept his own. 

Reminding herself to thank him later (and very glad she decided to get him a nice pair of woolen socks), she moved on to the next present. Puggy and the twins obviously decided it was bad form to not get her anything, so they combined their gifts into one and got her a brush. Hmm, curious. Were they trying to tell me something? And here I thought one of Slytherin's traits was subtlety.

The next present was wrapped carefully in purple paper, it had marks on it like the wrapper had messed up a few times trying to get it perfect. Hermione smiled, she could sympathize with those trying to get things perfect. Respecting the perfect wrapping, Hermione carefully undid the Spell-o-Tape without ripping and of the purple paper, revealing a box.

Inside the box she found the most beautiful quill she had ever seen. Large, scarlet, and radiating magic, Hermione examined it closer. It looked like it came from a phoenix, but those feathers were incredibly rare and usually were made directly into wands rather than quills. Still, it was breathtaking. Wondering who would have bought this for her, Hermione searched the box and paper for a note, but found none. Deciding to just think about it later, she reached for the small, quaint package that she knew must be from her best friend.

Upon tearing into it, she found his note. It read: 

Hermione,

This is my first Christmas present I've ever given anyone. I hope you like it. And I hope I did it right.

Happy Christmas,

Tom

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at his straightforward note. Like she wouldn't absolutely love anything he gave her.

He must have used like half the roll of tape, because it took like ten minutes to completely get the paper off. When she finally caught sight of his present she gasped. It was a silver Slytherin pendant. The snake's tail coiled around its body until it met up with the chain, a rather long chain. Purple gems shone out of the snake's eyes, a rather peculiar color choice as most would expect green or even red. With Tom, though, there is a reason for everything. She'd have to ask him when she saw him.

Putting the beautiful necklace on, she left her bed, still in her pajamas and raced to the Common room. Just as she was hoping, he was standing there waiting for her.

“Tom!” She yelled from the stairs, “Oh, Tom! This is the most beautiful present I've ever gotten. I love it so much!” Racing towards him she plowed into him, wrapping him in a gigantic hug.

“Hermi...Hermio... HERMIONE, AIR!” She released him. His face did look a little flushed, and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. Oops.

Wringing his hands, he spoke. “Well, I'm glad you like it. I've never given someone a gift before, so it's good to know that I'm good at it.” He said magnanimously, trying to cover his embarrassment. 

“You silly boy. Yes, you are a gift-giving genius, I'll grant you that. Now tell me, I noticed the snake's eyes are purple. Why is that, Tom?”

“Oh. Well, you see.”

“Tom Riddle Jr. You are preparing to lie to me.” She flashed him her maternal glare she had perfected on Harry and Ron years ago. He stood no chance. “Don't you dare. You tell me the reason right now!”

“Okay fine. I was hoping to avoid this.”

“Avoid what?”

“Your pendant came in a matching set with mine.” He pulled out an identical necklace from his robes for her to examine. “The two are linked to be able to tell the owner of the other one when its twin is in danger. One had purple eyes and one had green, and I'm sorry, Hermione, but I just can't wear a snake with purple eyes. So I gave you that one and I kept this one.”

He eyed her apprehensively, as if checking to see if he was in trouble. Hermione could read the confusion on his face.

“Are you... are you crying?”

“Yes, you big bully.” With that she grabbed him up into another bear hug. “This is the most precious gift I have ever gotten. You must have spent all your allowance from the school on this. I just want to tell you, Tom, that this is now my most prized possession. Thank you.”

The look he gave her melted her heart. “Only the best for the best. Your gift was amazing too, you know.”

“Oh please, like anything could top yours.”

“No, no, I've never had a matching set of gloves, hat, and scarf before. Sometimes in the orphanage I would have to go without one of them. So this is, this is, this is utterly fantastic. No one has... well, no one has ever even given me a gift so, thank you Hermione.”

To his own embarrassment, he had actually teared up a little bit by the end. Hermione could sense how hard it was to say this to her, but underneath that even, she understood that he needed to say this to her. It was important to him that he tell her how much it meant, so that she could understand just how much she had given him. He wanted her to understand him. How far he had come from his days of mild torture in the orphanage.

Hermione took his hand in hers, squeezed it, and then whispered in his ear as she went to give him another hug.

“The orphanage is in the past now. You might still have to return this summer, but who you were there is no longer who you are now. Remember that Tom. Because now that you've met me, you're stuck with me, and that means that someone will always love you, care about you, and be on your side no matter what. We are both alone in this world, my friend. That means that we need to stick together. So wherever you are, be it in that horrible place, or just in a different classroom than me, these pendants now symbolize our bond—wherever you go, I am there with you. Don't forget that.”

He nodded, looking a little more teary and the most child-like she had ever seen him. 

“Now go get your gloves and scarf. We are going to eat a nice Christmas breakfast and then build the biggest and best snowman the Wizarding world has ever seen.”

He started towards the boys' dorms but stopped, turned to her, and with a most serious expression on his face, he told her calmly, “Thank you for making my first Christmas perfect. It means a lot.”

She regally nodded, and then turned teasing. “You're quite welcome, Mr. Riddle. Now, hop to it, we don't want to miss those bangers and mash you are so partial to, now do we?”

And with a muttered “so bossy,” he did just that.


	2. Chapter 2

September 19, 1940

Professor Horace Slughorn, newly appointed Head of Slytherin House after Mendallyn left two years ago, burst into the Potions classroom with a youthful exuberance that still surprised Hermione every time she encountered it. The drafty room sat as lifeless as its days under Snape's puritan thumb. Or would. Still Hermione had trouble thinking of events in the right tense. 

The new Slytherin fifth year prefects sat together at a desk in the front, their fire already lit and ready for the potion-of-the-day's instructions. The bushy haired girl leaned over to her slightly taller partner with an evil smirk on her face, “Tom, did you really catch Puggy and Abraxas together last night on your rounds?”

The raven headed youth with the dashing smile kept his eye on the professor, but whispered back under his breath, “I always wondered why animals instinctively knew not to cross-breed. Now that I've witnessed the pug and the ferret snogging, I rather wish that instinct had passed to wizards.”

His droll tone had the girl clutching her stomach, trying to hold in her chuckles. Finally they made eye contact and shared a special smile.

Good one. Think they heard?

I think so. I can feel Pug-Nut's self-righteousness from here. Serves them right for comparing you to a beaver. Your teeth were fixed months ago.

Hermione smirked at the thought he had placed in her head. Last year the two friends had focused all their energy into mastering the Legilimency and Occlumency they had been practicing for years. Though Hermione felt certain she had grasped it before, she still had no idea if she was doing it right and thus had to wait for Tom to catch up in Legilimency in order to test her new skills. 

She really had quite lucked out that her shields were so well-formed at first, because otherwise Tom would have been privy to all her secrets. As it is now, the two could block their minds entirely without concentrating, and even had the discipline to hide all their thoughts but one. Thus when one sensed the change in the others' mind, they would delve into the others' psyche to read the thought presented to them. It was quite a bit more convenient than writing notes, but harder to concentrate on multi-tasking, so they normally didn't communicate this way during class.

Students with less drive and ambition would surely have spent all class talking, but Tom paid strict and careful attention, and Hermione respected Tom's need to learn. Luckily through their innovative spin on Legilimency, one could sense when the other wanted to share a thought. Perhaps it was made easier via the linking pendants they each still wore, but regardless, all Hermione's secrets were now safe inside her mind. 

All her secrets including the Wizard's Oath she had been forced to make with Dumbledore in which she wouldn't reveal anything of Tom's future to him until his eighteenth birthday.

While Hermione now trusted Tom with her life as well as her own personal secrets, her friendship did not trump Dumbledore's custody of him—in both worlds. Therefore, she had to wait even past his Wizarding coming-of-age until he became a man in the non-magical world as well to tell him how she came to be here. She both dreaded and anticipated that day. She absolutely hated lying to him, but she feared possible rejection when he found out the truth. What if he never wants to see me again? He's all I have in this world.

Until then, though, her hands were quite tied. Perhaps he was too young to know anyway. Hermione certainly did not want to add to his burden. Life was already tough enough to an orphaned half-blooded misunderstood boy in the Slytherin Kingdom. She wouldn't have told him when he was twelve anyway, but Dumbledore had finally caught on about their closeness and forced her hand.

Old Uncle Albus sure didn't trust her in this time as much as he did in the other. Perhaps her being in Slytherin in this time added in to the equation. Perhaps his natural suspicion against her dear friend Tom further inflamed his mistrust of her now.

Snapping back to the present, Hermione realized that everyone had started moving to the storage cabinet for ingredients. She snuck a peek over to Tom's open book to see what potion they were on, embarrassed to be caught wool-gathering. Tom didn't see her as he had started for the cabinet himself, leaving her to set up as per their usual routine.

The Amible Potion? But that's not taught at Hogwarts, especially in only the fifth year. It's a N.E.W.T. level potion, not an O.W.L. level. 

“I see you've finally caught back up to reality.” Hermione looked up startled. Tom had already gathered the ingredients and was now smiling at her with amusement written all over his face.

Giving up pretending, as she had obviously been caught, Hermione replied, “Yes. I drifted away in my thoughts. Why don't you rub it in a little more that you caught me, huh?”

He just laughed. “I can always tell when you aren't in the present.”

“Oh yeah? And why do you never bring me out of my reveries?”

Suddenly his face turned serious and he answered her a bit matter of factly, “Because you always look so utterly hopeless, and I have no idea how to make it better for you.”

Her heart hammered under her shirt. “Tom. You have no idea how much just your presence makes things better and easier.” She willed him with her eyes to understand, and just as she knew would happen, he did. 

“Don't think that this means that I am blind, Hermione. I have many questions that you have not answered fully. There are some things that do not add up and while I turn a blind eye, I am not unaware of them.” Hermione felt heat creep up her neck, just as it always did when he came too close to the truth of her time traveling. Several times he had confronted her about discrepancies in her story, mistakes she had made in the time line, her talk of products that hadn't been invented yet. Each time she stammered out a half-hearted excuse and practically begged him to drop it, that one day she would explain.

He continued, still quietly enough to ensure that the busy couples around them could not hear. “I know how much you hate deceiving me, that's one of the reasons you are so bad at it. And that is the only reason I have let you get away with it, because I know that if you aren't telling me, that you cannot tell me. One day you will make me understand, I have faith in that.”

“You are quite amazing, Tom Riddle. Did you know that?”

He smiled wryly, “It has been said before. I did not deny it then, and I won't now.” She cocked an eyebrow, going for a sardonic look she had been practicing. By the look in Tom's eyes, she hadn't quite succeeded yet. Switching back to a serious mode, and taking what he had revealed to her to heart, she spoke, choosing her words carefully.

“I will honor your request. On your eighteenth birthday, I will explain all.”

“My eighteenth? Why so long?”

“It will be revealed then. Just, just please know that I with hold this completely against my will. I am magically bound to not tell you until then. If I had it my way, you would already know. Please trust me.”

He nodded slowly, finishing up their unexpected moment.

Clearing his throat and looking down to their desk, he got back into business mode. “Alright, for the Amible Potion we need to add the Lacewings before the Bicorn horn, but after we've crushed the Doxy droppings.”

She let him get to it, after all, he was the one who needed to learn this stuff, she was just reviewing before the O.W.L.s, which she could have passed the instant she awoke in the Room of Requirement all those years ago.

While Tom worked, she regarded him clinically. In the past four years he had shot up like a firecracker on New Year's. He was now fifteen and an even six foot tall, the third tallest in their year.

Besides that, he had completely avoided spots. Hermione found this dreadfully unfair and held it against him completely. Murder, plotting to take over the world and splitting his own soul she could forgive with all of the love in her heart, but his blemish free face was just too far. Silently seething, she forced herself to focus on something else. His hands. She vaguely remembered Harry talking about Voldemort's freakishly long fingers. Well Tom had them too. But in the more human form, they were divine. She felt like any second he would conjure up a piano and just start going to town. 

The thought of Tom in a fancy tuxedo and playing a jazz number in a small club somewhere made her giggle. That was so not his scene. He would never be caught dead bearing his heart and soul for strangers, no, Tom was way too shy and reserved for that. He could play the part of the outgoing teenager well, sure. But it was all an act, none of what he said or did was actually him. So in that way, he was okay with it. But to freely give away his own feelings and emotions was, to him, like allowing people to shoot curses at him without putting up a decent defense. 

It was still a hassle getting him to open up at all, and still he could sometimes only do it through their mind link so that he didn't have to say the words. Unfortunately, this only got worse as he aged. His eleven-year-old self had opened up much more easily, like when he confessed about his heritage.

His older and much more handsome (according to the girls of Hogwarts ages thirteen and up) self could barely acknowledge when he had bouts of wistfulness—wishing his childhood had been filled with loving parents who took him to the Magical Menagerie and Diagon Ally. Those didn't happen often, but when they did Hermione only noticed because he stuck closer to her than normal, feeding off her love for him. During those times he just had to be around someone that he knew without a doubt cared.

He would invent reasons for them to stay together for the entire day, which was not completely out of the realm of possibility, but normally she could at least walk to the loo by herself! She had gotten much better at adapting to his behavior, recognizing the signs. During those few days she would sit with him in the Slytherin Common Room and get all her homework done for the week, or they would practice Occlumency.

Still, sometimes she just needed some alone time. She loved Tom to abandon, but occasionally she had to just relax in solitary peace. He understood that, and often felt the same. So for about one day out of the week they would separate completely, excepting meals and classes, whereupon they would re-charge their batteries and bask in their individuality. 

Tom would spend his days outside, unless it was raining. He could handle heat and snow, but loathed rain. Hermione would hunker down in the Room of Requirement, something still secret from the rest of the school but Tom. 

Finally Tom finished the first half of the potion. It had to just simmer for fifteen minutes before the newt claws could be added.

From the desk behind them, Tom and Hermione heard Puggy ask Abraxas, “What exactly is this potion supposed to do again?”

Hermione smiled to herself when she saw that their potion was already the wrong color, a mustard yellow. She decided to take pity on the poor little dog-faced girl and explain, “The Amible Potion determines the person that will best understand the brewer as a person. The very last stage of the brewing process dictates that a hair be added, from that the potion will show the face of the person most likely to be compatible with them in friendship within a square mile of the cauldron. On top of that, the rest of the potion turns a color. The color represents how close the two can become. It is not a determinate of the relationship now, but rather the potential or ideal bond.”

“Oh, very good Miss. Dumbledore!” Slughorn interrupted her, “So you were paying attention. I'll never underestimate you again, girl. Now I'm curious to see what results you will get, we'll test yours first.”

“Great, Professor Slughorn. I can't wait.” She said feebly, feeling like the joke was on her.

Tom looked torn between amusement and anger. She looked to him and asked him quietly, “Hey, are you mad that you won't get to test the potion?”

“No.” He sighed, “I already know it would show your face anyway, so there's really no point in wasting ingredients on me.”

“But I know it will show your face too, so I could say the same thing.”

“Ah but you choose to isolate yourself with me. Besides, it's your birthday, is it not? Birthday girl gets to test the potion.”

“Humph. I rather thought you forgot.”

“How could I ever forget your birthday? I only have one friend, and one birthday stat to remember. I was just going to keep it to myself until tonight when I gave you your presents and we met up in the Room of Requirement like we do for all birthdays.”

“Presents? As in multiple? Tom, you didn't have to—“

“Ah, but I already did, so you can't berate me now!” He laughed. She was actually upset her got her more than one present. “You are such a backwards girl.”

“A backwards girl? Excuse me!”

“No, well, what I meant was—“

“Oh save it, Mr. Manly. Backwards girl can see that the fifteen minutes are up and we have more ingredients to add.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully and he knew he was forgiven.

When the potion was finished, well ahead of everyone else of course, Tom had Slughorn come over to watch the results. Hermione carefully selected a hair, whimpered a little as she plucked it from her head, and added it to the potion.

Stirring it seven times clock-wise, she waited for the tell-tale signs. Slowly a caricature of a face started to materialize. After a good ten seconds, the face solidified into an accurate rendering of Tom's own countenance. They made eye contact over the cauldron and smiled. Just a confirmation.

Slughorn, also not surprised, started on another of his garrulous rants about his top two students and how perfect it was that they were friends. He stopped mid sentence, though, when he took a closer look at the potion.

The rest of the potion, behind Tom's glamorous face, had turned a golden white, similar in look to the Felix Felicis. Finding that odd, Hermione figured it must be one of the higher colors of the spectrum of determining how close they could become.

Everyone knew that red meant romantic love, possible marriage, and green meant platonic friends. Some even knew that purple meant life-long friendship, but few knew that yellow, though not this exact shade, was the highest form of friendship there could be. Perhaps the gold indicated a combination of a few of the colors with yellow as its main base? 

She asked Slughorn that question and he replied succinctly, though a little oddly, “Yes, my girl, you've hit the nail right on the head.” He seemed to be far away in his thoughts, reminding Hermione a bit of that awe-struck look Tom occasionally had when he encountered something new in the Wizarding world. “Alright class, who's next?”

“Well that was... exactly as I suspected.” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I know. I don't understand why he was so surprised though. I think everyone expected my face.”

“If you think about it, he didn't act strangely until he saw the color. Maybe it's uncommon to combine the colors?”

“You're right. That's probably it.”

He looked up then to see Slughorn at the desk next to him with Natasha Nott and Cygnus Black. Cygnus was just about to add the hair. Hermione noticed Tom looking at the color of the potion and watched the nuances of his face turn from his normal blank expression to all out panic.

“NO! DON'T ADD—!” But it was already done.

The cauldron exploded in a fiery hunk of goop. Knowing that he had not consciously thought about it, Hermione felt Tom reach over and pull her to the ground, throwing himself on top of her.

Debris flew across the room. Hermione could smell the smoke in the room and instantly became thirsty. She knew half the room was destroyed, but all she could think about was Tom's heavy body flattening her own. He was surprisingly warm, and his familiar sandalwood smell suddenly seemed more exotic for some reason. When did he get so big? It seemed like just yesterday he was that small under nourished boy. How could she not notice his change? She spent practically every second with him except two months in the summers when he went back to the orphanage and she went to Dumbledore's mansion alone. 

His cheek brushed hers and she felt a mild scratchy sensation. He grew whiskers? He was only fifteen! This wasn't right. He couldn't be turning into a man this fast!

After what felt like hours but was only seconds, the room started to settle down, oblivious to Hermione's thoughts. Tom waited a few extra heartbeats, then started to move off of her. She missed his weight as soon as he left, but scolded herself for thinking that. 

“You alright Hermione?” Tom asked her.

A little dazed, she responded, “Yes, I'm fine. How are you?”

“I might need to make a quick trip to the Infirmary, but I'll be alright.”

“What? How are you hurt?”

“It's not a big deal, it's just my back.”

“Turn around, let me see.” She said in her maternal voice.

He turned and her heart clenched. There were big gaping holes in his robes where the fiery debris hit him and burned through his clothes. The skin was pink and irritated, in some places blood could be seen. Hermione was about to insist he go immediately to Madam Pomfrey, but Slughorn beat her to it.

“Students! Is anyone injured?”

“Tom is, Professor.”

“Really, Professor, it's not a big deal. I just need a little burn salve.”

“Nonsense boy. Miss Dumbledore will escort you to the Hospital Wing. Now go.”

Hermione ignored Tom's half-serious glare and herded him out of the classroom. Twenty minutes later found them both in the Hospital Wing. 

A young Madam Pomfrey, her first year as Hogwarts' Healer was the year before, treated Tom quickly and efficiently. When he had to remove his shirt, Hermione had to look away. The salve smelled like boiled cabbage and Tom told her via Legilimency that it felt like cottage cheese. She had to hide a smile at that.

Soon enough Tom was good as new, however, his robes needed to be repaired. Hermione took care of that with a flick of her wand. He nodded at her in thanks, and the two went back to the Potions classroom to pick up their stuff.

Professor Slughorn was just dismissing the rest of the class to their break before dinner when the duo arrived. 

“Ah, Miss Dumbledore, Mr. Riddle. You have returned. I assumed everything was patched up adequately?”

Hermione could see the tension in Tom's jaw as he bit back the sarcastic witticism dying to burst forth. Instead, he looked to her and told her, Yeah because Madam Pomfrey is in the habit of allowing patients who are unhealthy to just leave. She smiled just enough to let him know she caught the comment and appreciated it.

Outwardly, the male prefect respectfully replied, “Yes, sir. Good as new. We just came by to grab our things.”

A strange look came over Slughorn again, a look similar to the one Hermione saw earlier when he inspected their potion. Suddenly his mouth opened and spoke, though his face looked surprised at the words coming forth. “Mr. Riddle, please stay a moment. I've been meaning to have a talk with you.”

Tom allowed the smallest hint of confusion mar his perfect face before it disappeared completely. “Of course, Professor.” He turned to Hermione, “I guess I'll see you at dinner?”

“Actually, Mr. Riddle, I'd like you to eat dinner here with me while we have a discussion. You will see Miss. Dumbledore again in a little while.”

Tom turned so that his back was to Slughorn, and begged her with his eyes not to leave him. She looked back at him and told him silently, Well it's not like I can do anything about it, now. Just buck up, and be a brave little boy about it. We can have a good laugh about it later. See you!

He shook his head at her, accepting his doom. Turning to meet her professor's eyes, she said aloud, “Oh sure. I'll just get started on some homework.” She looked from Tom to Slughorn, not bothering to hide her confusion. Then she added, rather awkwardly, “Have a good...talk.”

She left the room with her mind buzzing. What could Slughorn possibly be talking to Tom about? It can't be Slytherin business, because then I wouldn't have been excluded. Ah well, I'm sure he'll tell me when he returns and we'll have a good laugh over it.

When Tom returned, however, he acted...off. He met her eyes, by now learning that this was a tell sign for Hermione, and he still acted as normal for the most part. But when she asked about the meeting with Slughorn he winced. Or flinched. It was hard to tell because it was so subtle, and they are very similar. She knew that something was up from that one tremor.

“Oh hey, did you just get back?”

“Yes. Just walked in.”

“Okay. Um, so what did he want to talk to you about?” There it was, the flinch. 

“He just wanted to talk to me about the Slug Club, the horrible thing. Apparently he thinks I'm leadership material. I had to try very hard not to shudder.” 

Hmm. Tom does lack a conscience for many things, but he could never all-out lie to me. I'm guessing this is, at best, a half-truth. Probably just enough for him to be able to allow himself to tell me this, but definitely not the whole truth.

“Well that's strange.” A brief look of relief passed over his features before he settled into his calm facade again. Deciding to leave it for now, she steered the conversation in a different direction. “So, would you like to start our homework now? I've only finished half of Flitwick's essay on Silencing Charms, and I'd like to finish it before—“

“No thank you. I find myself rather tired. Re-growing patches of skin and some muscle can do that to you. Plus I had to promise Pomfrey to get extra sleep. So, I'm just going to retire early tonight and catch up tomorrow. I bid you good night.” He didn't even wait for her to return the sentiment, but started off for his dormitory at a little faster pace than he normally walked.

Feeling hurt that he had forgotten their birthday tradition, Hermione sighed deeply. Earlier he had promised that they would enjoy their time in the Room of Requirement just like they had been since his birthday (New Year's Eve) of their first year.

Tom could be pretty selfish, all teenagers could, but he had never stooped this low before. The Tom she knew wouldn't blow her off on her own birthday. Too hurt to be mad, she threw all her books back into her bag and made her own way up to the dormitories. 

How could he? Slughorn must have said something to really put him off his rocker. It was hard enough having your very best friend desert you on your sweet sixteen (well, second sweet sixteen, so did it really matter as much?) but now she would have to keep her eyes peeled for dark activities, because Merlin knew she had no idea what was going through his brain. Thanks a lot, Professor.

Something had happened with Slughorn. What that was, Hermione didn't know, but if things hadn't returned to normal by the next morning, she would find out one way or another.

….........

The next morning things had not returned to normal, and sadly, part of the blame rested with Hermione. Tom came down as if nothing was wrong, as if he hadn't just forgotten her birthday and their plans. He came down smiling and trying too hard to charm her and make her laugh.

When he realized that she was having none of it, he backed off.

It seemed to the rest of the school that the two best friends were having their first fight. Hermione, feeling betrayed by her best friend didn't want to be around him because he had hurt her feelings so horribly. Worse, he hadn't even realized what he did. Tom was still acting weird about whatever it was that Slughorn had talked to him about and for some reason was avoiding Hermione as much as she was him.

Although, the word 'avoiding' is a stretch. 'Avoiding' implies that the two in question didn't sit next to each other in every class, and next to each other in their unofficial assigned seats at meals. So while they couldn't physically avoid one another, they barely spoke. And when they did speak, their tones were short, clipped, and devoid of humor.

Neither took shots at the other, but both were so confused as to how this rift had come about and how to act around each other, that they mostly just refrained from speaking.

Everyone noticed, the teachers looked at them strangely when neither volunteered. Because when neither of them volunteered, no one else in the class was going to offer. The students were also thrown off by the behavior. Tom Riddle and Hermione Dumbledore were such a fixture of Hogwarts by now, that the two of them on the outs was like having the entire menu changed, the food was still there, but it wasn't the same.

A week went by of this behavior and once again Hermione and Tom found themselves in Slughorn's Potions class.

“Tom, would you collect the ingredients?” He didn't respond, he just went.

They communicated briefly and through non-verbal means. He would point to something and she would prepare it, then she would tap him when she was finished and ready to add it. They moved robotically, as if their personalities were gone and their bodies just kept going. 

They finished early and just sat there. After a few awkward moments, Hermione opened a book and began reading up on Animagus transformations. 

The rest of the class finished about fifteen minutes after them and Slughorn ended class after getting a flask from each partnership. As the class was departing, the professor called out, “Tom, m'boy, stick around for a second.” Her best friend approached his desk cautiously, like it was the last place he wanted to be.

Great more Slughorn-Tom time. After this time, maybe we'll be bitter enemies. Again.

Hermione went off to do a bit more light reading of her Animagus book before going to dinner.

Tom arrived late to dinner, but he sat down in his usual seat just to her right. Hermione immediately noticed a difference in his attitude.

It was confirmed when he leaned over to her and asked her quietly, “Can we talk after dinner?”

She felt her brow furrow in puzzlement but she nodded quickly and finished up her dinner rapidly. He ate so fast she thought he was going to choke. Soon enough they were both done, and Tom lead her out of the Great Hall with a hand on the small of her back. It was the most contact they'd had in a week, aside from her tappings in Potions earlier.

He steered her to the Room of Requirement, to her surprise. Leaving her standing by the door, he swept past it three times then went through the door. She followed him and gasped when she saw the room he created.

It was the exact same room she had conjured for his first birthday at Hogwarts, down to the exact detail. The fireplace was huge and was definitely the focal point of the room. The world's most comfortable rug sat in front of it, she knew, as it was the same one from before. It was like sitting on a cloud.

He looked pleased. “What's all this, Tom?”

His pleased look quickly turned sheepish. “I am a bloody moron.”

“You won't see me arguing.”

“Hermione, I am so sorry. I completely forgot about our plans to celebrate your birthday because I was so embarrassed about what Slughorn lectured me about.”

“I knew that talk had something to do with it, but how could you completely forget my birthday? We had plans. You have never hurt my feelings like you did then.” Something close to tears may or may not have but starting up in her eyes.

“I know. I was an ass that I didn't even realize it. I was so focused on myself and my own insecurity that I didn't even know how to interact with you.”

“What? What could he have said to you that you wouldn't know how to talk to me?”

A look of utter horror came over Tom's face then. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Laugh? Why would I laugh?”

“Just, don't okay?”

“Well, I'm not making that promise. You are here to make this up to me remember?”

“Damn, I hate when you're right.”

“I'm always right. And stop cussing.”

“Bugger.”

“Now you're just testing my patience. I could just go, you know.” She turned to leave.

“No, stay. Stay. I'm sorry.” He said, grabbing her on her shoulder and turning her around.

“Fine, now tell me.”

“Okay.” He paused, like he was mustering up the courage. Bloody Slytheirns. “Merlin this is so embarrassing.”

“For fuck's sake Tom, just spit it out already!”

“HE GAVE ME 'THE TALK,' OKAY? I had to hear all about the bloody birds and the bees from SLUGHORN because he realized that my best friend is a girl and apparently we are very compatible. He told me he was concerned that one day, that said best friend, may wind up pregnant because my dirty muggle orphanage never taught me where fucking BABIES COME FROM!” He took a large breath and ran his hands through his wavy raven locks, trying to calm himself down.

Hermione desperately wanted to laugh. She knew she would later, but for now she wanted him to get through his confession.

“Suddenly he's all 'Tom, m'boy, you have to treat a lady right. And that Hermione, she's a real lady, alright.' I mean it was horrible. Not because he kept talking about you specifically, but because it was him talking about it at all. I'm a fifteen-year-old boy, you know, and I certainly think about that often, I mean, the boys in my dormitory talk. Puggy's gotten quite a reputation for herself, by the way. But he went into so much detail, Hermione. Like, explicit detail. Like, I was doing every Occlumency meditation technique we have found and I still couldn't block out the images.” He paused again, gathering his thoughts. She let him, knowing that if she interrupted he would lose steam and possibly give up. Plus, as far as apologies go, this one was getting pretty entertaining. 

“So then he let me go after all that, and he did talk to me about the Slug Club too, that wasn't a lie. Anyway, after all that and him putting those images about treating you right in my mind and all that, and I immediately run into you. And I dunno, it was just like too much. All I could think about was that you have... lady parts... and then all I could think about was Slughorn explaining lady parts, and I just couldn't take it. Through all that I managed to forget our birthday plans, and I apologize a thousand times.” He had quite run out of breath by the end of his diatribe, and as he sat there trying to regain a little dignity, Hermione really tried not to laugh.

Her amusement won out though and she began to laugh in earnest. In between giggles she tried to apologize, “I'm so...” giggle, “sorry, I just...” giggle, “can't help it!” Giggle, giggle, SNORT, giggle. “Admit it, it's a little funny.”

“It is not. It was horrendous and—“

“And you let Slughorn come between our friendship because you never thought of the differences between boys and girls.”

Accepting defeat, he finally started to laugh too. They both laughed until they wept. Hermione had fallen to the ground in front of the fireplace, shaking with mirth.

“I can't believe our first and only fight has been over something as ridiculous as this.” She said as she started to regain control over her body.

“Yes, well, to be honest, it wasn't something they really explained at the orphanage. So it kinda took me by surprise. I mean, I knew about the mechanics, I guess, but not about the monthlies, and all that.”

“Tom Riddle just said the word 'monthlies,' I think I might die of laughing too much!” 

“That's not a bad way to go.” he replied, and re-joined her in laughter, his baritone laugh mixing harmoniously with her bell-like voice.

A few moments later they had calmed again and both were seated on the rug in front of the fire. “Shall we start the tradition, now, oh old one?”

Hermione attempted her raised eyebrow look again. Still not effective. Dang. “I'm three months older than you, kiddo. And yes, presents please! And then you can tell me all the things you love and hate about me.” Their tradition went that five sincere compliments, five silly compliments, and one annoyance were told to the birthday boy/girl in no particular order. It started on Tom's first birthday at Hogwarts, and this was the first time tradition had been dropped since then. 

Things are back on track, now, thought Hermione, as she lay next to her best friend in the universe, in either time. After his rambling of eleven things, he got around to giving her her presents. 

This year Tom had gotten her a rare book about Animagus Transformations, this year's secret project for them, and a small leather-bound diary. Hermione gasped. This was the exact diary that he would have turned into a horcrux, except that his name was not on it, but hers. 

Hermione J. Dumbledore 1940

Tears came unwanted to her eyes, and Hermione fought hard to fend them off. She was really doing it. She was really saving the world from Voldemort. She was really saving him.


	3. Chapter 3

February 15, 1942

The day after Valentine's Day found Hermione and Tom relaxing on their shared couch in the Room of Requirement after classes.

“So... you haven't told me anything. How was your date? Did she kiss you? Did you want her to? You haven't told me anything about her.” She whipped out a pout, guaranteed to make him spill.

As she predicted, the pout defeats his reticence every time. “Merlin, Hermione. Why do you want to hear about it anyway? You had your own date to go on with that Corner boy. Shouldn't you be focusing on your own night?” He said as he sat down by her in front of the fire on their shared rug.

“No, I shouldn't.” She snapped off, uncharacteristically short with her best friend.

“Hmm. That bad, huh?”

“No! … Well, yes.”

“And what happened?” He asked her softly, but with an undercurrent of steel. She would have to reassure him, or Vance Corner would mysteriously wind up in the Hospital Wing in the next few days.

“Nothing too terrible. We just... didn't click.”

“You just didn't click? You just didn't click? What does that even mean?”

“It means that our personalities are not suited for romance as well as they are for friendship.” Tom just shot her a look like she wasn't fooling him. “Oh alright, he's a pig. The second we sat down in the Three Broomsticks he was all over me, trying to kiss me, trying to touch me. Frankly, it was disgusting.”

Tom's face hardened and his eyes practically shouted his hatred for 'the Corner boy,' as he called him. “That rat bastard! If he thinks he can get away with that behavior with you, he has no idea what's coming for him! I'll tear him apart!”

“No you won't. You are going to leave it alone.” She said as she poked a finger in his chest. “I have already handled it, his bollocks will be sore until next Christmas!” Tom sniggered. “And as far as you are concerned, that is the end of it.”

“I don't like that that git thought he could treat you like that. The whole school knows you are under my protection.”

“Under your protection? Tom Riddle! When have I ever acted in a manner that suggested I could not take care of myself?”

“That's not it. It's not that I don't think you can take care of yourself, because Merlin knows that you can, it's just... I don't have anyone else. If something happens to you, then I have absolutely no one.” His serious tone then turned teasing. Hermione knew he was trying to distract her, but sometimes he was just so adorable that she let him. “So, you can see, that I'm really just doing this for myself. It really has little to do with you. You should stop thinking that it's all about you. That's pretty selfish, you know.”

She met his teasing grin with a blank face. “You are ridiculous. I don't know why I put up with you.”

“I do.”

“Oh yeah? Well then explain it to me, because I've forgotten.”

“I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure it's 90% because of my body.”

She couldn't help it. Her cold mask dissolved and she burst into laughter. Tom tried his hardest to look suitably miffed.

“You didn't have to laugh. I've been growing into myself, I'll have you know.”

“Yes, I know... and so do all the girls in the top four years. They stare at you, you know.”

He shook his head in a cross between embarrassment and horror. “Oh yes, the walking whale, Allison Bulstrode looks at me like she wants to eat me.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Literally.”

“You are so predictable. I saw that one a mile away.”

“Yeah and Bulstrode can see me from a mile away.”

“Surely it's not all bad, though. Some of them are cute.”

“So that's why your date went so badly. You were too busy looking at my fan club. It's okay, Hermione, I'll still love you if you want to take up with one of them. It'll be weird, but I'll cope. For you.”

“Ew Tom!” She hit him in the shoulder. Surely he had a permanent bruise there from all the times she hit him in that exact spot. “You know that wasn't it.”

“Yes, I know. Besides, I've seen you looking at me. All that lust behind those brown eyes centered on me.”

“I think I'm going to hit you again.” And she did. ”Anyway speaking of dates, Mr. Change-the-topic-quickly-and-hope-no-one-notices, how was yours?”

Suddenly the laughing Tom from before morphed into sulky, something-went-terribly-wrong Tom.

“It started out great. We went around Hogsmeade, I bought her some chocolate form Honeyduke's, just like you suggested and we had taken the path around the Shrieking Shack.” He looked far away, lost in his own thoughts.

“And?” Tom startled out of his reverie, a little too quickly. Tom always was a drama queen, even in the alternate future. He soaked up attention, but only when it pleased him.

“And, well, things started to go down.”

“Like you started fighting?”

He smiled lasciviously, “No, more like she started going down.”

“Oh, gross Tom! Why would you tell me that?”

“You asked.”

“No I didn't!” She exclaimed.

“Yes you did. At the beginning of this conversation you asked if she kissed me, you didn't ask where she kissed me.”

“You are so gross. Anyway, how did it end up badly, if things had gotten that... serious?”

He shrugged, the change in conversation not bothering him a bit. Ever since the Slughorn fiasco last year, Hermione had noticed that he shared almost everything with her. Sometimes too much. This was definitely one of those times.

“Well after we were done doing that, we went back to the Three Broomsticks. I assume you had already fled the scene by then. Anyway, Alyse started talking about how we were Hogwarts' newest, hottest couple. And I had no idea what she was talking about, because I just asked her on one date, not to be my fiancee or whatever.”

“You did ask her on Valentine's Day, Tom.”

“So? That doesn't mean I want to marry her, I just liked her body.”

“Tom!”

“What now?”

“You have got to stop being such a git. Basically you are just as bad as Vance Corner right now.”

“That's not true! I would never, ever, force a woman to... you know. Alyse did that freely. It was her idea, actually.”

“I know you would never force anybody, Tom. But you led her on and in some ways that is just as bad as the creep I went with.”

“I disagree. My mother basically forced my father, you know? Using that love potion to manipulate his feelings, that was low. Then when she found herself pregnant she told him, and he abandoned us.” Tom sighed. He rarely talked about his family, so just by this alone Hermione knew he was serious about his position in this debate. “In some ways I can't even blame him for splitting. She forced him to act against his will, took the choice from him, and then just expected him to love her.”

“Your father still deserves some of the blame, I think. If you had been in that position, say some girl did the same thing to you and became pregnant, and died at the child's birth would you just leave it for some strangers who could care less to raise?”

His normally stormy eyes turned hurricane-level stormy. “No! I would never make a child go through that.”

“I know you wouldn't. Because you are capable of great emotion, Tom.” He scoffed. “And that is something to be proud of. You are capable of great love, and that is a gift. You give out your love very selectively, but when you do... you do it all encompassing.”

“Hermione, you are the only one in the world that I love.”

“So then I would know, wouldn't I?”

“Yeah, I suppose you would.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Hermione punched the same spot on his arm again.

“Ow! What was that for you banshee?”

“You changed the subject. Again. I don't think you meant to, but you did. Now finish your story. You were just coming back into Hogsmeade when Alyse began talking about you two being the bee's knees.” Hermione laughed silently at her own word choice. She had successfully integrated into the '40's culture, but using phrases like 'the bee's knees' still made her laugh.

“You still didn't have to punch me.” She shot him a glare. “Oh fine. She started going off about how we would study together every night and yadda yadda yadda. But then I told her that I study with you, and she just got mad. She said that if she was going to be my girlfriend that I would have to pick her over you. I asked her why I had to stop being friends with you, why couldn't I just date her and study with you? And she said that she couldn't do that, that I would have to choose. So I looked at her and I said, 'Honey, if it comes down to it, I pick her over anyone every single time. She is irreplaceable, and you are not.'”

Hermione smiled, a warm feeling in her stomach so deep she felt that it might just be her soul. “You really said that?”

“'Mione. Don't be stupid, you know I would pick you. For Merlin's sake that was just our first date! Who did she really think I was going to pick? Some easy bint, or the girl who's been by my side for six years? Easy choice.”

“Thank you. I would pick you over anyone else too.”

“I know. Besides, how would she possibly keep up with me while we were studying? I bet she can't even Occlude.”

“To be fair, not many people can.”

“True. But not many people can become Animagi in their sixth year, either. Want to romp around the grounds?” He stood up, offering his hand to her, ever the gentleman.

“I would love to, kind sir.” and she accepted his help standing up.

The two friends had begun nighttime strolls around the castle and its grounds since the very first time the both of them had transformed together. Hermione, being a natural at Transfiguration, had made the change first, but Tom followed in the very next session, his form bringing much surprise to the both of them.

Both of their animal forms liked to roam around so they would sneak out onto the grounds using the Marauders' secret passageways. As usual, they had no difficulty getting into the cold night air. It being February, the air was freezing. Hermione was about to change when she glanced over toward Hogsmeade. A large column of thick, black smoke spiraled up, only made visible by the orange flames that produced it.

“Tom! Tom, look!”

“What? Where?” He said, he had to come back from mid-change.

“It's Hogsmeade! See all that smoke? Either they're having a bonfire, or it's under attack!”

For some unknown reason that Hermione would contemplate later, she looked to Tom for instructions. The same quality that had the women of Hogwarts looking at him all the time (apart from his looks) flared in this instant. His eyes had never been so filled with energy, and his back had never been so straight. He almost looked regal, like he was born to be in these intense situations.

He swung his head from the village over to her, his gaze reassuring her. His countenance showed pure determination. Yes, Hogsmeade was in good hands.

“You go and get help, I'll try to hold them off!”

“But—“

“No, Hermione, don't argue. I'm better at Defense Against the Dark Arts than you are. Besides, my animagus form will come in handy here. You know that, I know you know that. Just trust me, and go get help.”

She held his eyes for a second, in defiance. But hearing his logic rolling around in her head made her concede. She grabbed his hand, put it to her cheek and whispered softly, “Please. Please be safe. I'll be back with reinforcements soon.”

“Promise.”

And with that, he took his warm hand from her freezing cheek, and ran off at a sprint. She watched him go for about ten seconds and only turned away when she saw him change, his orange and black stripes reaffirming her confidence in him. But not nearly as much as his two inch teeth.

…...........................

Back through the passageway they had used to escape the castle, Hermione sprinted faster than she had ever run. A sly fox shot through the twists and turns of the passage bent on making it to Dumbledore's office as soon as yesterday.

While running down the Transfiguration corridor, Hermione briefly considered sending a patronus and berated herself for not thinking of it before.

But, then again, Dumbledore himself tweaked the Patronus charm to talk, and he didn't figure that out until the mid 1970's at least. Besides, by now she was already seconds away from his office.

It wasn't until she was banging furiously on his door that she realized he might not be there. What professor is in their office at midnight, anyway? 

No time. No time for this. Patronous, it is. I have to help Tom. I'll deal with consequences later. 

Mustering up all the positive thoughts she could, she shouted, “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Tom's face from earlier that day, joking about his horrible date flashed through her mind the second the last syllable slipped from her tongue.

A tiger tore from her wand, a roar leaving its mouth. Surprised, but recovering with alacrity, Hermione quickly whispered a message to it and followed its form with her eyes as it slipped through the office door. Deciding that she had no time to wait for Dumbledore and answer a million questions, she left to re-join Tom. A red fox burst through the halls towards the secret passage inside the witch's hump that Harry had found in his third year.

The Slytherin prefect found that while she intellectually knew that this was the quickest route to Hogsmeade, it felt like the longest trip she had ever undertaken. It was so surreal. Tom was out there in a very dangerous situation, fighting back Grindelwald's finest, and she was crawling through a tunnel, decidedly not helping him. The thought disgusted her, but it renewed her depleting energy. The faster she got there, the faster she'd be of help.

Two years of her life later, she was lifting the trapdoor beneath Honeyduke's. She pulled herself up and quietly sneaked up the stairs, her wand in a death grip.

The store was empty and dark. Keeping low, she made her way to the door. Through the door's window, she could see that several of the buildings were, indeed, aflame. Luckily, Honeyduke's was on the other side of the village from the action.

She stepped out of the building, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. She followed the screams to the middle of town, where to her horror, Tom was battling five wizards.

All her escapades with Harry and Ron had not prepared her for this moment. Battling Voldemort himself and his army of Death Eaters had not prepared her for this terror.

Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Fighting to keep the fear at bay, she focused on all that had made her a Gryffindor in the first place. She let her love and her loyalty to Tom envelope her, encompassing her entire being. The love saturated her body, mind, and soul. And when the love soaked into everything, there was no room for the fear and it fled.

Newly determined, the petite girl gathered her rage, summoned her will and released Hell on the five wizards who were picking on her Tom. 

The first combatant, a portly man who's body suggested he was better suited for office work, went down with a quick and silent stupefy. 

Hermione kept her movements as silent and accurate as possible. If she could just get rid of a few before the others noticed, she could relieve some of the pressure on Tom. 

She took down the next two with more Stupefys. If it isn't broken, don't fix it. 

The crash of the two wizards falling to the ground together, caused Tom to look over at her. In the instant their eyes locked, she realized that she shouldn't have surprised him. Now his attention was on her and not his other two opponents. 

She immediately began running towards him, knowing in her bones that the next spell sent would hit him. If she could just get there, she could save him.

A tall man with raggedy brown hair and a jade earring smiled mischievously. Hermione tracked his movement. His wand arm twitched. And she jumped.

Tom, still focused on her, had a dumb-founded expression on his face. His distraction cost him, and while the bushy haired woman leaped toward him, the man with the earring released one of the most sinister curses of all, the Cruciatus Curse.

Hermione felt it hit her, and her first thought was that she felt relieved. The world's most painful curse, specifically designed to inflict as much pain as possible plowed its way through her nervous system and all she could think about was how happy she was. Because if she was the one in pain, then it meant that it hit her, and not Tom.

She focused on that as the agony tore through her. Darkness impounded on her, and it took her a few seconds to realize that it was because her eyes had rolled into her head. It was like touching a hot stove, but all over her body. And the pain didn't just affect her skin, but her insides felt like they were boiling and her eyeballs felt like they had melted.

Her impressive thinking had been demoted to just one mantra. Tom will save us. Tom will save us. Tom will save us. 

Had she been in her right mind, she would have noticed that her mantra was indeed coming true. The Tom she had come to love and care about did not exist in this moment.

The rage and fury that eminanted from this Tom Riddle belonged entirely to Lord Voldemort, and right now, Voldemort was exactly what she needed.

His eyes burned crimson as his wand swept over the remaining opponents. More of the attackers swarmed into the scene, and Tom doled out their punishment with relish.

Every time his wand struck, a scream ripped through the village. Hermione's own screams fueled his fury, and the only solution was either the cessation of hers, or more of theirs.

Bodies flew, blood rained from the sky.

Single-handedly he took down fifteen men, each one looking worse than the one before. Several showed evidence of Stupefys, but several had long lacerations on their bodies. Tom had never used the Cutting Curse in such creative ways, but the scars the survivors would have would remind them not to mess with him again. 

Bystanders were torn between disgust and gratefulness to their avenging angel.

Tom moved with such lethal grace, that every person in the vicinity had to admit that he was beautiful. His porcelain face and his raven hair were so noticeable on his magnificent form, that even the leader of the attacking army had to pay his silent respects.

Grindelwald watched from the top of the highest building in Hogsmeade. He watched diligently as his army was decimated by one seventeen-year-old kid. And he smiled.

Tom faced down the last wizard, the man with the jade earring.

“Take the curse off her or I will take your head off.” He commanded in such a voice that the man made a move to follow his directions before he realized that he didn't follow the teen's orders.

“Then I guess you'll just have to make me, boy.” Replied the man in a much deeper voice than expected.

Tom obliged. He slashed and jabbed with his wand, spells flying through the village. Red curses flew over their heads, as they dodged and blocked.

This duel raged in a way that only happens when both participants are incredibly talented. They grew closer and closer together as the spells became increasingly dangerous. Tom dodged a Disembowelment Hex when an Expelliarmus flew out of no where and robbed him of his wand. Falling to his knees, Tom gasped for air.

“Ah, so you aren't unbeatable. It looks like a real man was all that was needed to take you down.”

“A real man,” Tom still gasped for breath, “would never,” gasp, “be as stupid as you!” He finished, his voice steady and strong. Tom sprung forward, his gasping now revealed as an act to invite the man closer. Mid-leap Tom transformed and ripped the man from shoulder to hip with one swipe of his powerful paw. The man went down. For good measure, Tom ravaged his wand hand and bit the wood in two.

Hermione's screams stopped, replaced with her sobs.

Tom approached her cautiously, careful not to scare her or harm her in his animal form. Her body lay sprawled out a few meters to his right. He watched as her back rose and fell with her heaving sobs. 

He nuzzled her with his nose, offering his warmth and his comfort. 

Hermione felt it, and knew who it was in the depths of her soul. She turned to look at him. Her big brown eyes met his amber yellow eyes for a precious moment, before she launched herself at him.

Tom flinched, still halfway in battle mode, but quickly succumbed to the hug she was forcing on him. 

“Tom. My best friend. My tiger.”

He nodded. Unable to talk in this body, he used his mind. Are you okay, Hermione? Are you still hurting? I'm going to get you to the Hospital Wing as soon as I can. Don't you worry. 

As soon as he felt her arms leave his neck he phased back. An approaching villager handed him his wand, and he started off for the castle with Hermione passed out behind him, oblivious to the dark mastermind's curious eye.

…....................................................

Thirsty. Parched. Everything felt...dry. Why am I so thirsty? Her brown eyes slowly opened. The ceiling didn't look right. It didn't match the ceiling in her dormitory in the dungeons. It looks like the Hospital Wing, but why—

She snapped straight up in bed, everything coming back in full clarity. Already feeling panic creeping up her spine, she spun her head around the room, taking everything in. 

Her first observation was that it was nighttime still. But was it the same night? Or the next night? How long ago had all this happened? 

Her second observation was that the chair next to her bed was empty. She frowned. Well, Tom was in a rough fight, he probably needed his sleep. Even if he was here, I would have insisted he get some sleep anyway. He just tried to do what I'd want him to do. But still, even as she thought this, she had to admit she was disappointed.

Well, now she was definitely wide-awake, so she decided to go find Madam Pomfrey and ask if she could leave. As she went to get out of bed, though, her foot didn't land on the flagstone floor, but on something furry and squishy.

With a shriek, she jumped back up onto the bed, searching the room for her wand. She grabbed it from the nightstand, but when she went to stun the thing, she had to smile.

Her furry floor's large feline chest was still rising and falling slowly. Tom was sleeping on her floor as the largest cat in the world. Feeling his presence, knowing he was there, calmed her racing heart.

Before she could even register that she was tired, she too fell into a blissful slumber, her guardian just a step away.

….............................................

The second time she woke, it was to whispering voices fiercely arguing. She recognized Tom's whisper at once, having heard it at least once a class. The other was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it immediately like her best friend's.

Opening her eyes and groaning at the harsh light, she sat up in bed. Her brown eyes fell on Tom and the other person in the argument. Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore. It came as such a shock because Hermione had never heard him argue with anyone. At all. Normally everyone just acceded to his wishes, without him explaining anything. 

His peculiar dislike for Tom made Hermione uneasy. Sure, Dumbledore knew that in the alternate time line Tom grew into the most feared Dark Lord of all time. But, in the here and now, he was a sweet boy who did nothing wrong, and in fact, had just saved Hogsmeade single-handedly from a vicious attack.

Their mutual hatred intrigued the bushy haired girl, much like a train accident would intrigue someone. Why did they have such animosity? Though Tom had not been a model citizen, let alone wizard, before the professor showed up at his orphanage, he had turned himself completely around, with much help from Hermione.

In the time line without Hermione, Tom acted like a model student and peer, with her here, he just was. There was no act. So why does 'Uncle Albus' still detest him so? The Dumbledore she knew was all about second chances, why wouldn't he give Tom that break?

Hermione had tried to get to the bottom of this mystery several times already. She didn't understand where Dumbledore was coming from, but even more upsetting, was that she couldn't completely understand where Tom's hatred hailed from. 

She knew part of it stemmed from the Transfiguration professor's mistreatment of him, but such juvenile behavior didn't affect Tom from anyone else, students or faculty. There was more to it, she knew. Tom probably didn't understand it himself, which is why he found it impossible to explain to her other that, “I dunno, I just hate him. I get a weird vibe from him.” Coming back to the present, she turned her attention to their disagreement.

“You shouldn't have even been out there in the first place.”

“But we were and it worked out for the best. Hogsmeade is still standing now because Hermione and I fancied a night time stroll.” He said, whimsical just the right amount to irritate Dumbledore.

“You unnecessarily put your lives at risk! You put her life at risk!” His voice hoarse from whisper screaming.

“I would never! I forced her to go back to the school to get help. From you. She made sure you got the message and then she came back to help. I can't help that she did it much faster than I thought she would. I was actually thinking that you were already on your way when I sent her back. You are supposed to be Grindelwald's nemesis, aren't you?” Tom practically roared, and the whispering turned into full on yelling.

Over on her bed, Hermione almost exploded in anger. That little scum bag! How dare he not treat her like she could help. She knew she could!

“You cannot blame me for not predicting this attack, Mr. Riddle.”

“Well I am. If you had been a little more prepared, she wouldn't have been under that curse for so long.”

“Well if you had taken care of it all a little faster she wouldn't have suffered so much either.”

“I'm only seventeen years old, Professor! I shouldn't have been able to take out one of those full grown wizards, let alone a multitude of them. You're supposed to be the most powerful wizard alive, so where were you to take care of business? I had to do what I had to do to make sure the village, and she, survived.”

Hermione decided this might be a good time to make her presence known. You know, before they started screaming, or Merlin forbid, have a pissing contest.

“Um, Tom? Professor Dumbledore?”

The two men snapped out of their discussion, both of them ashamed at her catching them arguing in such a juvenile manner. Tom's cheeks were a little pink, too. How cute. He took down an army of evil wizards, and still blushes when he's embarrassed.

“Hermione!” Tom greeted her, launching himself onto her bed in an undignified heap. “Are you okay? Are you hurting?” He started looking her over for damage, even going so far as to place his hand on her forehead like he was some kind of mother hen.

“Tom I'm fine. And fever isn't a symptom of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus.” He looked at her blankly. “So you don't need to check for a fever on my forehead.”

“Oh! Sorry.” He pulled his warm hand off her face. The gesture reminded her of right before he left to defend Hogsmeade, bringing her mind back to the nightmarish events of last night.

“Miss Dumbledore, I hope you are well?” Her 'Uncle Albus' asked with true concern, his blue eyes back to twinkling.

“Yes, both of you. I feel fine.” She said reflexively. But taking a quick account of her faculties, she decided that it was more or less the truth. “I'm a little sore, I guess, but that will pass.”

“Oh good. I am so glad to hear that, Hermione.” The professor replied. “Madame Pomfrey said you were free to go as soon as you woke up. But she would like to check on you sometime tomorrow, just in case.”

“Okay, I understand. Thank you for passing along the message, Professor.”

“You are welcome, dear. Now, I'll be taking my leave. Lunch starts in about thirty minutes.” And he left with a nod to her, and icy silence for Tom.

Her best friend glared as he watched his hated professor go, then he turned to her, still sitting on her bed.

“So, you're sure you're okay?” He asked, his voice now much more vulnerable now that they were alone. She nodded. He looked at her strangely for a moment, and then abruptly pulled her into a hug, one of the few he had initiated in their entire friendship. “Don't you ever jump in front of a curse for me again!” He scolded. “Never, ever, ever. Got that?” He pulled away from her, imploring her with his eery gray eyes. “How am I supposed to protect you if you go and jump in front of curses? You're making my job a little hard here, Dumbledore.”

She sighed, “I'm sorry, Riddle. If I hadn't distracted you in the first place, you would have been able to dodge the curse, but somehow I just knew it would hit you. And I couldn't let that happen, so I did what I had to do.”

“You didn't have to do anything, you could—“

“Oh, so I can't 'do what I had to do' but you can? Is that what you mean?” Her voice turned hard.

“What?”

“I heard you talking to Dumbledore. You sent me back thinking it wasn't even necessary to get help? Do you have so little trust in me? Am I that big of a burden to you?”

Tears slid down her face, unwelcome. The shock of all that had happened was finally catching up to her and creating a catharsis through her cries. She hated this. She hated crying, especially in front of him. She rarely ever cried. Sometimes she teared up a bit, but she had learned how to squish those annoying beads of water back into her eyeballs. And now here she was, crying over something so stupid.

He took her face gently in his big hands and looked at her very seriously. He only made this face when he was about to say something important, that he needed her to listen to and believe.

“Listen to me, Hermione. I trust you. I trust you more than anyone, head and shoulders more than anyone. I just wanted to protect you. I needed to know you were safe so that I could take control without worrying about you. You are my weakness and they could have—and did—exploit that. Do you know how I felt when I watched you squirm on the ground, watched your eyes roll in your head and heard your scream fill my mind? That's all I could hear when I tried to sleep last night. Can you really blame me for wanting to spare you pain, oh She-who-jumps-in-front-of-Cruciatus-curse?”

“Well—“ She started, but closed her mouth as she thought it over. “I guess it is a little hypocritical of me, of both of us really.”

“I hate to admit it, but you're right. We were both being hypocritical. I apologize.”

“Me too.” She said, and they both smiled. 

At the pause in the conversation, Hermione took note of the rest of the room. On her nightstand, a vase of flowers had appeared that wasn't there the night before. Tom noticed her wandering eyes and filled in her unasked question.

“They're from Abraxas.”

“Malfoy?”

“Yes. Is there another Abraxas?” He asked sarcastically.

“No, but I just needed the confirmation.” Her confusion doubled. “Why would he send me flowers?”

“Read the card. Maybe he answers that question.”

“You didn't read it?”

“I didn't want to be rude.”

She laughed. “That's sweet.” She replied, and reached for the card. “If you didn't read it, how'd you know who they were from?”

“I was here when he dropped them off this morning. He said he picked them from the green house himself. Said you were too good for conjured flowers. Like anyone can really tell the difference.”

“That's... surprisingly sweet.”

Tom just looked disgusted. “What does it say?”

“Oh, right, the card.” She opened it up and read aloud, “Hermione, hoping you get well soon. All of Hogwarts owes their gratitude to you for saving our favorite form of entertainment. Perhaps when you are well we can go to your village together? Your admirer, Abraxas Malfoy.” She scoffed. “What a dweeb.”

“A dweeb?”

“I mean, a pillock.”

“So,” he started, sounded way too casual. “What are you going to say?”

“What do you think I'm going to say? I'm going to say 'no thanks, ferret, pick on someone your own size.' Geez, Tom. Why would I want to date that arrogant git?”

“I dunno.” He said, sounding small. “I was just wondering.”

Hermione smelled something fishy. He was acting very strange. Strange even for just getting into a huge fight and finding out he could maim people. It was strange that he wasn't affected by that, but he was freaking out (in his own way) that Malfoy Sr. Sr. wanted to take her on a date.

“Okay, spill.”

“Pardon me?”

“What's on your mind, Tom? You are acting very peculiar.”

“I was so hoping you would be too tired to see through me.”

“Yeah well I'm not, so tell me.”

“Fine. Malfoy's been barking up your tree for the last few months.”

“WHAT?!”

“How could you seriously not know? Everyone knows. He tries to sit close to you in class, he's started sitting on the other side of you at meals. He's even tried to talk to me about 'this girl he likes' and asks me all kinds of obvious questions about it. Well, I guess I'll give him credit. He's actually being pretty subtle, it's just hard to lie to a Legilimens like myself.”

“Tom! You've been using Legilimency against people?”

“We'll get back to that. But seriously, how could you not realize he's practically in love with you?”

“How could be practically in love with me? We've spoken like three times since first year! One of those times was me asking if I could borrow a quill because Puggy had broken mine.” She huffed out, exasperated.

“I'm not going to pretend to understand, 'Mione. But he looks at you constantly.” Tom seemed to be looking far away as he thought more about it. “The funniest part is when he gets jealous of me.”

“Gets jealous of you? Of you? What for? Everyone knows we're just friends.”

He nodded in agreement. “Sure, but I'm still the person you see the most, the person closest to you. Abraxas was there when our Amible Potion results were announced, so he knows I'm closer to you than he ever will be. How could he not be jealous? The girl he loves won't give him the time of day because she spends all her time with her best friend. Her best friend that just happens to be a guy. I don't know if you've noticed, Hermione, but boys and girls aren't usually as close of friends as we are.”

Hermione hadn't even thought about that. In the '90's she was best friends with Ron and Harry and no one batted an eye. Much. But this was a different time, complete with different sets of standards and rules. Now that she thought about it, there weren't many different gender best friends. No wonder people sometimes got the wrong idea.

Tom continued on, oblivious to her revelation. “It was okay when we were first and second years. But now that we're older, people have been treating us differently, have you noticed?”

“You mean like Slughorn giving you the old birds and the bees talk because I'm 'a lady?'”

Tom glared at her. It's still a sore spot. “Yeah, thanks for bringing that back up.”

Hermione ignored him and kept talking, “And like how your Alyse tried to make you choose between your girlfriend and your best friend who is a girl?”

“She's not 'my Alyse,' but yes, that's what I mean.”

“Oh. Well, then yeah, I suppose I have noticed some things, I just didn't realize it was because of my friendship with you. Like, just the other day Madam Pinfold wouldn't let me check out a book on metalworking with magic because she said it 'wasn't a woman's place to learn metalworking.' Then she tried to get me to check out The Modern Woman's Place: A Portrait of Women and their Duties in the 1900's.”

“Ugh, does she know you at all?”

“That's probably why she 'recommended' them, actually.”

“I don't know about you, Hermione, but I'm not going to let society tell me who I'm allowed to be friends with. You know how I feel about you. You know about my family life, or lack thereof. You know who I am and how I came to be that person. I care only about what you think of me, not Madam Pinfold, not Headmaster Dippet, hell, I don't even care what your Uncle Albus thinks of our friendship. So stop worrying.” A wave of shock flowed through Hermione's body at her friend hitting the nail on the head with her emotions. It must have made its way onto her face because Tom continued, answering her unasked question.

“Yes, I can tell that you are actually worrying about this. Your eyebrows crinkle a bit when you're anxious. I'm not about to up and leave and decide that I would be better off without you just because some older people who don't even know us think that you're giving your favors away freely.”

Hermione took in his words, letting them sink into her body and wash away her doubts and worry. No one could calm her quite like Tom could. Acknowledging his declaration, she replied, “You're right. It was stupid of me to even think it of you for a second. I know you wouldn't do that. I hope you know I wouldn't either.”

“Never doubted you for a minute, Herms.” Hermione could feel her face turn from a serene smile into a grimace of the ugliest variety.

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” She asked, her voice more harsh than normal.

“That if I wanted to retain the ability to father children that I shouldn't call you 'Herms.'” He replied with a bit of a smirk on his handsome face, those special silvery gray eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“And? If you know the rule, why did you call me that?”

“I'm starting to think having children is overrated. Who needs brats, anyway?” He teased.

“Tom! You really think that about children?”

“Not really.” He responded, “I think I'd like them some day, but I'd have to be with a very patient woman. Someone who knows a lot about raising children and would tell me when I'm being a bad father.”

“I doubt you would be a bad father,” she assured him.

“Since I never had a real father, I'm not sure how I should act anyway.”

“True. Well, you have years until you have to figure it out. Don't worry about it until you have to.”

“Sounds good.” After a second his stomach rumbled rather loudly. “Say, 'Mione.”

“Yes?” She said, trying not to laugh.

“Can we go to lunch now? I think we're about to miss it.”

“I thought you'd never ask. Just let me grab my flowers and we can go.”

“The flowers from your loverboy?”

“Tom! Abraxas is not my 'loverboy!'”

Hermione grabbed the flowers and tucked her wand into her pocket and they continued their teasing banter out the door and all the way into the Great Hall.


	4. Chapter 4

Sixth Year, Part II:

The next few weeks were strange for the Gryffindor-turned-Slytherin for several reasons. First of all, Abraxas Malfoy had tripled his attempts to get Hermione to agree to a date, and completely stopped even a pretense of not stalking her. He found a way to talk to her twice a day. Surprisingly, his conversation wasn't too bad. It was just hard to concentrate on what he was saying while simultaneously trying to subtly un-glue his eyes from her chest.

The second reason everything was so odd lay in the behavior of the rest of the student body. Ever since her recovery, the student population treated her differently. They sought out her company, her opinion, her thoughts. It was like she suddenly gained a giant leap in popularity, and honestly, it rubbed her the wrong way. 

Never having been one for 'popularity,' Hermione decided not to let it affect her, to just keep acting how she normally acted, and doing the things she normally did. People were practically in awe of her. I didn't even do anything, really. I was just there and they treat me like this. People are so fickle.

If Hermione gained a boost in likeability, then Tom was being treated with something akin to hero worship. This bothered her even more. Where were these people when she and Tom were in first-year and had no friends but each other? Where were they when Tom came back from the orphanage he returned to for the summer while she had been bored at Dumbledore Manor for their Second Year and he refused to leave her side for more than a few seconds until Halloween?

Her best friend had risked his life to save Hogsmeade from utter ruin. He had selflessly defended the tiny village and saved many lives that night, including hers. They had kept the story mostly under wraps in order to minimize the danger the students could have been in, should the story get out to the press, and more importantly, the parents.

So of course the entire school knew about it. That added secrecy meant that the students were even more intrigued by the happenings, and in lieu of an official version via The Prophet, they relentlessly tried to pry information from the story's hero.

Hermione hated that these two-faced people flocked to Tom like he was this month's fad. Worse still, he seemed to enjoy the attention. Well, why not? Tom had come from an environment where he had to literally fight for attention. And Tom fought dirty. He had quickly realized that negative attention, such as bullying with his magic, was much easier to achieve than positive attention. Hermione was exasperated at having to re-train him into searching for positive attention, and was, until this point, quite sure she had managed. That stupid orphanage had really screwed him over, in many ways.

Here, though, people were giving him all the attention he wanted. And this time it was for something other than his looks. People were congratulating him for something positive he had done that no one else could have done. Hermione could tell he loved the feeling. He was getting off on the praise and the power. The fourth time he lost concentration on their conversation, she decided this was getting a little out of hand. 

Voldemort, she knew, had also been a bit of an attention whore, and seeing this aspect of Tom's personality arrive threw her for a bit of a loop. While she had long ago separated the two in her mind and soul, the new things that cropped up shook her out of her comfy cocoon. 

Hermione had never been a jealous sort, and wasn't even now. But for the sake of keeping Tom sane, she had to find a way to focus his attention off of his recently doubled fan club, and onto important matters.

She needed something that would shock him, something that would force him to realize that he had been distant from her. She needed to find the perfect event that would make him wake up and smell the bacon.

And with a smirk worth of Severus Snape himself, she found it. Tom would not be happy.

 

The end of March was approaching fast. The students were excited for the first of April, the next Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione passed several couples deciding to go together on her way back to the Slytherin Common Room. 

She greeted the dreary, cold room with a sigh. The absolute worst thing about being a Slytherin was the common room. The desks were convenient, but that damn coldness never left.

She sat by one of the fireplaces, waiting for the perfect time to put her plan into action when she heard voices coming from her dormitory. 

“I am so sick of hearing you say shit like that, Natasha. No one in Slytherin cares about stupid Mudbloods! If you want to be one so bad, why don't you just go join them. You aren't welcome with us anymore.” Hermione had to raise her eyebrows at that. Puggy's horrendous voice sounded more vicious than it ever had before, and Hermione could say that with assurance having been on the end of it enough times. 

“Annabelle? You're my sister, aren't you going to defend me?” She heard Natasha plead.

“No, Natasha. Pugnella's right. If you aren't with us, you're against us. I'm sorry, I really am.”

Hermione's raised eyebrows were now joined by a dropped jaw. They seriously said that to her? Natasha's own twin sister was kicking her out of their 'group?' That was ridiculous.

She heard the door slam, and Natasha came tearing down the stairs. Hermione watched cautiously, seeing the girl caught up in her own rage.

Thinking she was alone, Natasha screamed her fury. She threw a couch cushion into the fire and kicked the wall. As she danced around, cradling her toe her eyes met Hermione's surprised brown ones.

“Oh. Um, hi Hermione.”

“Hello, Natasha. Rough night?”

The blond laughed without any humor. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I couldn't help but hear what just happened.” Hermione said tentatively.

Natasha, still holding her injured foot, bounced her way over to the couch Hermione was sitting on, plopping down beside her.

“Yes, well. As angry as I am that they abandoned me, I can't help but be a little glad that I no longer have to put up with their ridiculous prejudice. I am so tired of pretending that Muggle-borns and Half-bloods are inferior to Purebloods, though by the way they went on about it I didn't do a very good job convincing them I believed that rubbish as well.” She said, with a world-weary sigh.

Hermione, a bit flabbergasted, tried to keep the astonishment off her easily read face as she replied, “Well, Natasha, I am so glad to finally have someone else in Slytherin who doesn't feel that way at all. My family have always been big supporters of equality in Wizards' Rights. If that lot have really kicked you to the curb, then you are always welcome to join Tom and me. We're kind of boring, we study a lot, but you'll always have a place with us if you should need it.”

Natasha looked wistfully at this thought. A few lone tears trekked their way down her cheeks, but her bearing and posture reflected none of those emotions coursing across her face. She sat in silence for a moment, then abruptly turned to Hermione, as if she had just reached some conclusion, and said, “Thank you, Hermione. I deserve much less than you are offering. I never stopped the other girls from having a go at you, but from now on I will count myself a friend to you. So, thank you for—“

But she never got to finish that thought, because at that precise moment, a rugged looking Abraxas Malfoy flew through the Common Room entrance, and practically dove in front of Hermione, his head bowed like a gallant knight.

A crooked smirk adorned her face, her plan about to be put into effect. “Hermione Dumbledore, I beg you for the last time: Come to Hogsmeade with me! I can't hide my feelings any longer. I've tried to be patient, and kind, the type of man you deserve. But I can't help but think maybe you'll respond better to a blunt declaration. I think, no I know, we would make a wonderful couple. I am worthy of you, please accompany me just this once and see if you don't think we would work out! Please.” Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Abraxas cut her off, “Please just think about it before you turn me down again.”

“Malfoy, you idiot, I was going to say yes,” she said, not looking at him, but looking at her nails, trying to appear unaffected. “but maybe now I'll rescind my answer.”

He looked horrified. “NO! No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” When she didn't begin to turn him down, his expression turned into one of extreme pleasure. A weird look, in all, a Malfoy with a grin plastered on his face instead of a sneer or a smirk.

“You won't regret it, Hermione. I promise you. I will meet you in a week's time in the Entrance Hall at 10 am. How does that sound?”

“Alright, Malfoy. Don't mess this up.” She said with a roll of her eyes.

He left quickly, probably thinking the less time he spent there the less time she would have to cancel their date.

Hermione giggled to herself, loving the fact that everything was coming together. Tom was going to be so jealous and come running back. 

Jealous? That's not really the emotion she wanted him to feel. So why would she just think that she wanted him to be jealous?

Really all she wanted was for him to see that he'd been ignoring her, and that her life would go on with or without him. Though that was a total lie, her '40's life completely revolved around Tom. How sad was that? It hadn't bothered her at all until his life stopped completely revolving around hers and he had started doing things independently of her. This was going to have to change. If he could be independent, then she could too.

“So, you are going to give poor Abraxas a chance now?” Hermione about jumped out of her skin when Natasha spoke, she had quite forgotten she was still sitting there.

After a quick, hidden, recovery, Hermione responded, “Well, yes.” But then, remembering that Tom had branched out, Hermione decided that she could and should branch out as well. So she shared her master plan with Natasha, who surprisingly, went along with it and even added suggestions that Hermione had not even seen possibilities with. The two of them were going to make an excellent team.

 

Hermione hadn't told Tom about her date with Abraxas, she wanted to see how far gone into his own world he had gone. She didn't change her behavior, didn't immediately start gushing about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend, but nor did she complain about Malfoy anymore either.

Like a typical boy, Tom didn't notice anything.

But Tom wasn't a typical boy, he was her best friend and nothing about him had ever been normal. Tom noticed things, he had a very unique perspective and was known throughout the faculty, to Dumbledore's dismay, as being very perceptive and hard to trick.

This only compounded Hermione's worry. 

If he doesn't say anything after two days post-date, I'll confront him directly. She told herself, giving both of them some leeway. That gave Tom two days to confront her, and herself two days to form a plan and gather her courage.

The days leading up to her date with Malfoy ran smoothly, to her astonishment. Hermione repeatedly found herself looking over her shoulder, as if the feeling in her gut of something about to go wrong would materialize and attack her physically. Even knowing why she did it, and knowing how ridiculous it actually was, she couldn't stop herself more than she could stop being a woman. 

Her new-found friendship with Natasha blossomed and they now spent so much time in each others' company, that even Tom, whose nose was perennially stuck in the clouds these days, noticed the change.

He took it in stride, luckily, and instead of just ignoring Hermione, he ignored the both of them. Never maliciously, though, and Hermione found a small comfort in that. She knew it was just the attention he was garnering that had him fascinated, and not something she had done wrong that made his attention waver. But, that didn't mean she had to like it.

She woke up early on the Saturday of her day with Malfoy, shockingly apathetic about her clothes, shocking to the other females of the time, who swooned and collapsed into histrionics over everything, but most especially dates with eligible men.

And for some reason that Hermione could never fathom, the girls of Hogwarts went bat-wild for Malfoy, the eligiblest of all the eligible bachelors, second only to Tom.

But as Tom was more of a mystery and thus harder to approach, most girls set their sights on Malfoy in the mistaken belief that they had more of a chance with him. In reality, they only had a chance if they were pure-blooded and of a reasonable attractiveness level, but that never could stop the power of a teenage girl's ambition for love.

Hermione wondered what Abraxas Malfoy would do if he found out that his “love,” Hermione Dumbledore, was actually a muggle-born. She spent the next few minutes as she de-tangled her mop of hair, imagining the results. He could ignore her, which seemed like a best-case scenario, or he could attack her, most likely the worst-case scenario. Either way, she decided after finishing up her hair and moving on to her clothes, it was best if dear Abraxas remained in the dark about that trifle little detail.

The Slytherin made her way to the Common Room soon after that thought, eager to get this whole thing over and done with, when out of the corner of her eye she caught someone sit up suddenly on the couch.

“Oh, you aren't wearing that, are you Hermione?” Natasha's clear and bell-like voice sounded from the figure.

Feeling slightly offended, Hermione looked down at her plain black skirt and blouse. “What's wrong with this, then?”

Natasha made her way over, her hands up by her face like one would approach a wild animal. I mean you no harm! screaming from her body language. “Well, for one, that skirt is a drab gray.”

“It's black!”

“Maybe twenty years ago, when it was meant to be worn.” She said, not unkindly.

Ooch, that one hit the mark. Though Hermione never cared much for fashion at all, she was still a girl and took many hits a day about her awful clothes. She knew they stood out because they were older-looking, but in the interest of making the best of the situation—and Dumbledore's generosity—Hermione made a conscious decision to not let her peers rankle her.

“Besides, if you go down now, he'll think you're more eager than you're meant to be.”

The brunette hadn't thought of that. Having a girl on her team definitely had its perks.

“Here, c'mon, I've got something that will make you look amazing. It couldn't hurt the plan if more than one man found you attractive.”

“What?!” Hermione's eyes shot to Natasha's.

“We'll make you so beautiful that Tom will have to notice you as a woman.” Natasha said, as if talking to a dim-wit.

“But, Natasha, that's not the point of all this.” Hermione responded, wondering how Natasha could have gotten the plan that mixed up. “I don't care if Tom thinks of me as a girl, I just want him to see that he's ignoring me.”

Natasha's face after that remark reminded Hermione of Dumbledore, in the I-know-something-you-don't-but-I-will-generously-leave-you-enough-subtle-hints-that-you-will-get-it-at-the-right-moment kind of way. Hermione hated that. She hated feeling like she was missing something, and hated even more that she was missing something that someone else wasn't missing and most especially she hated when that someone who knew the missing thing refused to share it with her. 

Together they had Hermione ready again in under ten minutes. Natasha really was a miracle worker. Do they teach these things in Pure-blood families before they leave for Hogwarts? Hermione wondered, but then her mind shifted to more important matters: The date with Malfoy.

…....................................................................................

Abraxas paced the Entrance Hall swiftly, his Slytherin subtlety lost in his impatience. Hermione could see him long before he saw her, watching his agile movements across the Hall from the staircase above. He seemed to be muttering to himself, but stopped immediately upon seeing Hermione's descent onto his level.

His eyes popped only a little, but that was just a small tell-sign. Hermione knew Natasha had done a terrific job with her when he stuttered.

“H-Hermione, you l-l-look great!”

Malfoys do not stutter. It might as well have been in the Malfoy family creed, it was such an iron-clad law. Draco had never once stuttered, even when she hit him. Lucius, especially, had a smooth way of talking, like oil dropped onto silk, that a stutter would be very unbecoming. Hermione doubted Lucius had ever said anything unintentional in his entire life, stammers included.

She crossed the Entrance Hall quickly, determining to get this over with. She made for the doors, and Abraxas, caught off guard for a moment, gathered his wits and followed after her like a lost puppy. The two of them made their way down to Hogsmeade, through the spattering of snow still holding onto winter, unable to concede to the grassy hills of spring.

While listening to Abraxas spatter on, and giving the occasional, “yeah,” Hermione couldn't help but ruminate on how different this trip to Hogsmeade was than the last time she went there—sprinting at top speed in fox form, meters below the ground. All things considered, she would rather walk there slowly than have that anxiety over Tom's safety gnaw at her while she was traveling ten times faster.

She shook that line of thinking from her head, and re-directed her attention back to Abraxas, who was still mid-monologue.

“And that's when I determined that Veelas have no effect on me, due to the Darshnovs that live in my pores. You know, they're pink and purple, polka dotted, of course, and their tentacles really do start to tickle. That's why I've been known to sneeze so often...”

What in Merlin's name was he talking about? Hermione felt a brief pang as Luna's face passed across her mind.

“Are you having me on?”

He looked startled as she interrupted him. 

“Excuse me? Am I having you on?” He asked, with the air of someone who feels they are entitled to a bit of attitude.

“Yes, you cannot be serious. It's rude to—“

“Oh, I'm being rude? You were the one who wasn't listening for about ten minutes while I was talking. I was just saying all kinds of shit to see if you were paying attention. Which you weren't,” he said acerbically, “but you already knew that.”

Hermione drew in a deep breath, prepared to put him in his place, self-righteous anger seeping out of her, just to deflate a second later. Damn it if he wasn't right.

“Malfoy, I...”

He smiled bashfully. “Abraxas. Call me, Abraxas.”

“You are...quite right, Abraxas. I apologize for not listening.” He nodded, and just like that the tension-filled air cleared. It was at that point in time that Hermione was blindsided by the fact that, given half a chance, she might actually have a good time with Abraxas. 

Which almost caused her to zone out again to think more about it, but one look at Abraxas' excitement filled face brought her back. She really couldn't do that to him. She would stay in the here and now.

A couple of hours later found the couple in the Three Broomsticks, sipping butterbeers in between increasingly long conversation topics. It surprised Hermione when she found her butterbeer stale tasting, after a particularly long argument between the two on the subject of Arithmancy used in Gringotts' accounting. Abraxas put up a particularly good defense of the Arithmancers who used their craft to account for the amount of money that employees had, just to in turn give it to the employers. Hermione found this practice ridiculous, her muggle background screaming for equality and the right to privacy.

Nevertheless, she reluctantly found herself respecting his opinion. At least it was well-backed up.

Abraxas and Hermione would never see eye-to-eye on things, and that's where the fun came from. Hermione spent all her time with him arguing about subjects she felt passionately about, and defending her ideals. He challenged her. And if she had to be truthful with herself, Hermione Granger-Dumbledore was not often challenged by her contemporaries. Only Tom could ever...

But then again, the whole point of this farce was for Tom to get his head out of his perfect arse. 

In the meantime, Hermione came to the realization that these past few hours with Abraxas had been...fun. In no way had she expected that. 

Just then, he downed the last few sips of his butterbeer, and met her eyes across the table. “Well, Hermione, would you like to look around Hogsmeade a bit longer? I hear Honeyduke's came up with a new candy that tastes like blood!”

Hermione smiled, flashes of her life in the 90's appearing before her mind's eye. Right then, staying in the here and now. No going back there.

“Candy that tastes like blood?! Good heavens, what will they come up with next? Candy that tastes like Cockroaches?” She giggled at her private joke. 

Abraxas grimaced and Hermione laughed at how his perfect features still looked perfect, even in the middle of a face like that. But, then again, women usually seem to flock to Malfoys and the three she'd had the (dis)pleasure of meeting all had permanent scowls on their faces. 

The two sixth years left a generous tip for their barmaid, then meandered out to the street. Hermione shivered in the brisk wind, and without appearing to have much forethought, Abraxas quickly put an arm around her, steering both of them towards Honeyduke's.

He may not have noticed his possessive behavior, but she sure did. Just as it was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to get off, she halted. In the spirit of having a good time with Abraxas, she let it go. After all, they were only a few shops down from their destination, and his arm was keeping most of the wind off her.

When they reached the threshold of Honeyduke's, Hermione made to open the door, but found it opening before she could reach it. To her surprise and displeasure, Pugnella walked right into her.

“Watch where you're walking, Botttlebrush!” she sputtered in Hermione's direction, while wiping imaginary germs off her skirt. “You should move out of the way when people more important than yourself are trying to walk by.” Hermione seethed. Who the hell did this girl think she was? Even after all this, Hermione was a “Pure-blood” in this time, and the Slytherins still managed to make her feel bad about herself.

Just as Hermione was about to put Puggy in her place, Abraxas came to her rescue, albeit in a suave and urbane manner that befitted a Slytherin, and not the in-your-face shouting that Hermione was about to subject her to.

“Ah, Pugnella, how nice to see you.” He said, his voice pure honey.

The girl's head shot up at his voice. “Oh, Abraxas. I'm so sorry you had to hear that.”

“Yes, I'm sorry I 'had to hear it' as well.” He said, still pleasant.

The two Slytheirn Pure-bloods locked eyes, having some sort of silent connection that escaped Hermione's grasp. Abraxas remained calm, his demeanor never changing, but his eyes spoke a challenge, daring Pug-nut to insult his date in front of him again. After several moments of their stalemate, Puggy seemed to concede. Still blocking the door, she looked over to Hermione with resignation on her face. 

“I apologize for my behavior today, Hermione. It is not becoming of a young lady to insult her equals in the presence of a wizard above both of us.” She said with an air of one forced into an apology that they don't mean, much like a young child caught stealing another child's candy. “I do hope you forgive me. And now I will take my leave. Good day to both of you.” She walked off, pug-nose proudly in the air, not waiting for the response that she wasn't going to get.

Though the brightest witch Hogwarts had seen in the last century or two, Hermione found this exchange confusing. While on the surface, Abraxas had forced Puggy to accept her and even apologize to her, she couldn't help but think that another, entirely different, matter was resolved in that staring match as well. The undertones of their body language implied this, but for the life of her, Hermione could not figure out what that underlying meaning could have been.

While Hermione watched Puggy go off, confused about what just happened, Abraxas had caught the door the Slytherin girl had left gaping open and started in. Hermione turned around just in time to see him go through the door, and race to catch up to him.

“Now, where have they put those new lollipops? I'd like to buy a few of those, as well as my usual standard.”

He didn't mention the run in at all, so Hermione decided to take his lead and carry on as if they had never seen her.

“What's your usual standard, then?” She asked, honestly curious. This new side of Abraxas, the mysterious side, had her fascinated by him. If he had just shown her this side while he was bugging her to go out with him, she wouldn't have had to use him for another purpose. She might have gone out with him on his own accolades.

Instead the whiny git Abraxas came out, and he was just plain annoying.

The rest of the day went without anymore incidents. The two left Honeyduke's, Hermione nervously eyeing the basement door, and continued around Hogsmeade, good-naturedly arguing about any topic they came across. 

Hermione got so caught up in their verbal war that before she knew it, they were back in Slytherin Common Room, and he was placing a chaste kiss on her cheek at the division between the boy dorms and the girl dorms.

As he pulled back, Hermione noticed a mischievous glint to his eye. “See, Hermione,” He whispered, his face still close to hers, “I told you we would have a good time.”

She gave him a shy smile, “I'll admit, Abraxas, that I had a better time than I thought I would. Thank you for the day.” She started to turn, eager to head off to meet Natasha.

But she should have remembered that Malfoys always have to have the last say.

“Let's do it again sometime.” Then he disappeared into the boys' dorms with a cocky smile and a swagger.

Hermione muttered a “Cheeky bastard” to herself, then turned on her heel to give Natasha the scoop, fighting a smile that stole her face.

….......................................................................................

It took two hours.

Hermione spent so much time worrying and planning for when Tom would find out about the date, and awaiting his reaction, that she somehow imagined that she would have a bit more time than two hours to come up with a half-way decent plan. Especially since she definitely wasn't expecting the date to go well.

But two hours after Abraxas cast her off at her dormitory, and approximately an hour after she finished giggling over the date with Natasha, Tom confronted her.

In the middle of dinner.

To be fair, she had noticed he was acting a bit strange. Sitting on her right, as per usual, she caught him staring off into space—quite a difference from his as-of-late behavior which included, but was not limited to: eyeing girls, moving in a manner which helped girls eye him, casually tossing his hair out of his eyes in order to impress girls eyeing him, ect.

So his withdrawn act caught her a little by surprise. To that extent, I guess his confrontation didn't come completely out of the blue. 

She was eating her meal and thinking about the strange turn of events that went by the name Abraxas, when Tom came out and said it.

“So when were you going to tell me, then?” He said, refusing to look up from his dinner.

Hermione poked her head up, not even sure if he was directing this question at her, for all the attention he'd paid her the last few weeks. The hard line of his back, stiffer than normal, alerted her to the fact that he was indeed asking her.

So she responded. “Tell you what?” 

Then cringed. That probably wasn't the best way to respond to that. Now he'll be mad and think I kept this from him deliberately. Oh, bugger. This is too soon!

“You know exactly what, Hermione. What happened to 'Abraxas is not my loverboy!'?” He said, doing an impression of Hermione that was spot-on. A few people around them heard it and giggled a bit.

Hermione groaned. I guess this means I'm not finishing dinner. 

Still conscious of the eavesdroppers surrounding them, Hermione spoke with her mind rather than her mouth, for the first time in what felt like months.

Alright then, let's talk about this. But, not here. Let's go to the Room of Requirement.

Being mind-to-mind again felt wonderful. But before she could think about it, Tom nodded, and made a brilliant excuse to leave the table. Hermione rolled her eyes when he claimed he heard a baby bird outside that had fallen out of a tree, and he needed to go get it. Rather than come up with some ridiculously elaborate excuse just to amuse the masses, Hermione said, “Well, I'm done. I'm going to go study.”

The glazed over eyes of those closest to her, not including Natasha who was on the other side of the long table, talking to Cygnus Black, her current paramour, kept Hermione grounded. While this day could possibly change the course of her friendship, and effectively life, Hermione going off to the library still caused instant glaucoma. At least some things were sacred. No one questioned her excuse, they all knew her study habits. They just didn't know that it was rarely anything for class she was studying.

She left the table, regretting not finishing her lamb while she had the chance, and followed her partner in crime out of the Great Hall, up seven flights of stairs and all the way to their sanctuary.

They made the trek silently, both vigilant as to being followed, and both observant of their counterpart. Hermione caught Tom looking at her hair. Before she could ask why, he cut her off.

“When did you get your hair cut? It's styled differently.”

This was not at all what she had expected him to say, and it showed on her face. “Umm, I had Natasha do it earlier today actually. She's a whiz with beauty charms.”

“Oh.” He said rather lamely. Before they had time to delve into another awkward avenue of conversation, the pair arrived at the stretch of wall hiding the Room of Requirement. As per their usual unspoken roles, Hermione went about providing the room's décor passing across the stretch of wall three times while Tom waited patiently, any hint of his thoughts wiped meticulously from his cherubic face. 

Tom followed Hermione into the room, not commenting on the vast difference from their birthday fireplace escape. Hermione had summoned a more modern room for them. The decade she'd been living in for the past few years was great and all, but her heart longed for her childhood's fads and comforts. The Room of Requirement had compromised her need to fit into this world of the turbulent forties and her heart's desire for her home. The result, Hermione noted, was a pleasant blend of World War II era furniture and several room accents, paintings mostly, that she knew would not be created for another thirty to forty years. Hermione relaxed a bit when she saw that they were subtle enough to not draw Tom's attention. The Slytherin Prefect took solace in the secret futuristic things, just another in a long line of private jokes and stolen comforts she enjoyed.

Tom had already been sitting for a few seconds before Hermione realized that she should probably join him. Taking the other half of the love seat, she turned to him, with no idea how to begin.

Luckily, Tom took this problem off her hands by starting, in a voice that betrayed how much self-control he was exerting to remain calm, “Hermione, why did you go on a date with Malfoy today?”

Hmmm, how to answer that. Should I immediately confess that it was originally a ruse, then ease into the I-now-may-actually-like-him part of it, or should I just pretend I liked him the whole time and Tom's inability to notice anything not related to his own face kept him from seeing it? Choices, choices...

In the end, Hermione decided that honesty was always the best policy. Well, as much honesty as there could be when one left out the whole Time-Travel aspect of her entire existence here in the forties.

She looked him dead in the eye, and in her most direct voice, said, “You were ignoring me.”

Incredulously, he responded, “I'm sorry, what?”

“You were ignoring me.” She said a little harder this time.

“I heard you the first time.”

“Then why did you act like you didn't?”

“That's... so not the point right now.” He shook his head, clearing cobwebs, and continued, “Why does me 'ignoring' you relate to you dating the Ferret? And I wasn't ignoring you.”

“You were totally ignoring me! Don't even try to deny it!” 

“Of course I deny it, because I didn't do it.” He countered.

“Oh yeah, then why didn't you know I was going to go on a date with Abraxas? The entire school knew Tom. For a whole week! They talked about it meters from you, and you still didn't know until we came back from the date.”

“I—“ He sputtered, “I—I dunno, I guess I've just been busy.” He said, his voice taking on a hint of pompousness after his recovery.

“Oh please, Tom Riddle, the only thing you've been busy with the last month is your cock!” Hermione replied in an out of character sarcastic barb that even contained a word of questionable appropriateness. Hermione rarely cursed, except in times of duress, or when trying to make a point.

Tom's visage turned stormy, his eyes alight with fury. But, he had no words to deny her claim. Because it was the truth. And Tom could do many things to Hermione, ignore her, tease her, out-do her about half the time, but he could never out right lie to her. Especially after the Slughorn fiasco of last year. 

“I'll not completely refute that claim,” He said a few seconds later, still unable to own up to it.

Hermione sighed, exasperation soaking her whole body. “Wow. What a concession.”

“Still... why would you even go out with him? You hate him, 'Mione. You've always hated him, so why now?”

The moment of truth....

“I knew he would annoy you the most. And I'm sorry, I know it was slightly underhanded—but, we're Slytherins! Underhanded is what we do best!”

“No, Hermione.” His eyes were solemn. The rage he had been containing morphed into a deep sadness, with betrayal at its heart. “No. Slytherins do underhanded. Slytherins. But us? Tom and Hermione? We are us first, and Slytherins second. And we do not do underhanded to each other. You taught me that. You've taught me almost everything 'moral' that I know. And I know that you know that. So, it's a bit hard for me to deal with you of all people doing this.” 

“Tom.” She said softly, afraid that speaking any louder would run him right out of the room. “Tom, I'm...I didn't even think of it that way. I didn't... I didn't consider this a betrayal as you seem to.” She got lost in her thoughts for a bit, the oppressive silence of the night soaking into their sacred room. 

Bravely she continued, “I see why you think that, though. I see why me being 'underhanded' hurts you so much. I do. I understand. If the person who taught you morality shows ill behavior, then who's to say you won't do the same bad behavior? You're scared of yourself, Tom. And I see it's confusing for you—that I acted so dishonestly with you. But, please remember, I'm just an imperfect person too. I can talk the talk, but even I mess up walking the walk. I'm sorry. Forgive me?”

“I think I already did. Forgive me?”

“Forgive you? For what?” She asked him.

“For thinking you infallible, for making you think I was ignoring you.”

“You were ignoring me.” At his glare, she amended, “Okay not the point, right now, got it.” They both huffed a laugh. “But yeah, I forgive you too. I'll always forgive you.”

They sat around for a while after that, catching up on the weeks they'd been distant. Tom told her about all the girls he'd fooled around with. Hermione admonished him, but couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous stories about them. The outlandish things these girls did to seduce him made both of them laugh very hard.

Hours later, the two best friends were slumped all over the couch, and each other. The physical act of just touching brought more comfort than they could have imagined before.

Tom broke the mood later when he remembered something. Hermione could sense his mood change, so she was prepared when he asked her, “So why did you go out with him?”

“Well, I told you why I chose him, but I guess I kinda left out the worst part.”

“The worst part? Did he touch you? I'll kill him if he—“

“Oh no, nothing like that. Calm down, really.” His eagerness to defend her annoyed her and amused her at the same time. Tom had a way of bringing mixed emotions to her. “No, I guess the date went better than I planned.”

“What does that mean?”

Nervously, she answered his blunt question. “It means that I would like to see him again.”

Hermione thought the vein in his temple might just burst. She was impressed at how well he hid his outrage. He had gotten better, she had to admit. He would never be able to fool her though. Really, why did he even try?

“Oh.”

“Oh? That's all you have to say?” She teased, his opinion on the matter strewn all over his puce face.

“No, but that's all I have to say that won't result in you being mad at me.” She laughed.

“Fair enough.” She conceded. “Promise me you'll at least give him a chance?”

“I will make no foolish promise such as that.”

Her lingering smile began to fade. “Then promise me you will respect me enough to let me make my own decisions and support me in them.” Her tone no nonsense and her eye brows lifted, expecting an answer and expecting it to be the right answer.

He hesitated. Hermione let him. He could hesitate all he wanted, but they both knew he would capitulate. She saw it the moment he gave up. His eyes lost their burning, and then he confirmed it with a shallow nod. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, I'll be here when you figure out he's a wanker.”

“Point made, Tom. Now let it go.”

She pushed herself off the couch, pulled him to his feet and they made their way back down to the dungeons, their friendship stronger than it had ever been.


	5. Chapter 5

June 1, 1942: One Week Before the End of Term, 6th Year

“Hermione, what's the answer to number five? I've done it four times and I'm still doing it all wrong!”

Hermione smiled an indulgent smile. For those who didn't know Tom—basically everyone else besides her—he was the same old Tom before exams. He would sweep into the examination room with an air of arrogant confidence and wipe the floor with everyone, excepting Hermione, of course. But underneath all that, he freaked out over exams. Any kind of exam really.

The first few years in Hogwarts were the worst, before Hermione really knew how to help him with the nerves. She herself had suffered from stressed out nerves over exams in her day—to the annoyance and amusement of Harry and Ron. So she could empathize, but she didn't know how to help him.

For her, Harry and Ron helped her by making her take time to relax. They'd joke around about how it was practically impossible for her to fail, which annoyed her so badly that she would dwell on it for hours, taking the place for worrying needlessly about the upcoming tests. Even if they weren't trying to help, her two buffoons of friends would end up helping her in a roundabout way.

But Tom was different, and even if he would react the same way she would, being annoyed out of worrying, they didn't share the relationship (especially early on) where she could just say he would fail marvelously. Mostly because he hung onto her words in the early days and believed anything she told him. This way was sure to kill his spirit faster than a return trip to the orphanage.

Through trial and error, many, many errors, Hermione learned that the best way to help Tom with his bout of anxiety was to study with him. Of course she barely needed to look over the stuff to make an easy O, but by sitting next to him and being available to answer his questions, questions he already knew the answers to, she could help keep him together.

“Tom, calm down. You've done it correctly each time.”

“But the answer sheet shows a different process to the answer! It's completely different.”

Hermione's indulgent smile stuck fast to her face. As she saw more and more of herself in Tom, her appreciation for Harry and Ron's patience grew. She used to think they had no patience, but if they had to put up with her in this same kind of blind panic that Tom was in, they should be canonized as saints. 

“Calm down, Tom. You know as well as I do that this is the correct answer. You've worked it out four times, I've worked it out several times for you, and the answer sheet agrees with both of us.” She calmly explained, knowing that this was not the time to be short. “Just because you used a different method to achieve the same answer doesn't mean you're wrong.”

For a second he looked like he was about to kill her. But then his shoulders released all their tension and he let out a big breath.

“Yeah. Yeah. Calm. I'll try.”

“That's all I ask, really.” Hermione replied cheekily.

As the days crept closer to their End of the Year Exams (6th year Edition), Tom grew progressively more antsy. Hermione had never seen him get this bad. His control was slipping so badly that even those that barely knew him, members of his fan club, could palpably sense the anxiety flowing off of him like waves in a hurricane. For the first time this year, they actively avoided him.

He snapped at first years. Sure, most upper level Slytherins enjoyed a good first-year scaring, but never Tom. Hermione was half-convinced it was because he had been campaigning for Head Boy since he found out about the Head Boy position. So, the first day.

Additionally, Hermione noticed a strange all black owl delivering letters to Tom daily with the morning post. Tom had been receiving all kinds of fan mail since he single-handedly saved Hogsmeade, mostly thank you letters from the villagers themselves offering coupons to their stores. But also mixed in were the occasional “groupie” as Hermione called them in her head, girls who had read the article they had eventually and begrudgingly gave into being interviewing for in the Prophet, and more importantly, saw his picture.

They sent all kinds of things: knickers, love letters signed with bright red lipstick stains and pungent perfume, even naked pictures. Hermione forced herself to find it amusing, otherwise she would lose all respect for her gender.

Still though, the girls usually gave up after one or two attempts to contact him. This owl had now been making regular appearances for a good fortnight. If she herself hadn't been so distracted with Abraxas, she knew she would have gotten to the bottom of it already. But between her budding relationship with the Slytherin Prince and her re-minted friendship with it's undisputed king, she just didn't keep the business with the owl her top priority. Not that it kept her from noticing a pattern of events.

But Hermione felt her unease strengthen the morning of their final day before the exams when the owl returned again. Tom saw it as well, his brow furrowing. If Tom had gotten to the point where his face showed his irritation, he was near a boiling point. Compounded with the stress of the tests, Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before he blew up. Better to do it now, when he still had time to compose himself and do well the next day than to find himself having a nervous breakdown in the middle of the test itself.

An unpleasant memory of Harry's History of Magic O.W.L. tried to overtake her, but Hermione swallowed it down. It wasn't often anymore that a memory would make its way into her consciousness, she had been too long in this world. She shook her head to clear it of the memory. Now was not the time to dwell, now was the time to focus on the present. Er, past.

They spent the morning revising needlessly. Tom had really worked himself into a good panic, and had already accidentally ignored three of his most prominent admirers—those brave enough to face his fraying nerves. Hermione forced Tom out of the library at lunch, finding herself bizarrely on the other end of the common argument from her previous life: “But you need to eat! How are you going to be able to do well on your tests if you're too focused on how hungry you are?”

He gave in with bad grace, but absolutely refused when she began to badger him into putting his book down while they ate. Knowing to pick her battles, Hermione let him have that concession and went back to picking apart her beef pie in silence, wishing Abraxas or Natasha had decided to eat lunch at the same time as them.

After lunch, Tom shot straight back to the library with Hermione hot on his heels. They made their way to their favorite corner in the back near the Magical Beasts section, opened their books and got back to revising all in the same silence that had been haunting them since Tom's nervous breakdown had started to manifest about two weeks back.

A few hours went by and Hermione lost herself in academia. She knew what she needed to know for the sixth year exams, and Tom did too, but she found a delightful tome on how to create your own potions called Creating Potions: It's All About the Portions! She didn't come out of the book until a sharp cough came from behind her. On instinct she turned her head and saw Dumbledore perched on a step ladder only several feet away.

“Oh. Hello Professor,” Hermione greeted him, certain that if he made himself known, then he must have a reason. Dumbledore never came around for idle chats, after all. Hermione's greeting shook Tom out of his trance, and he looked up, startled.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Dumbledore, Mr. Riddle. How are you today?”

“Fine. Professor.” Tom bit out, his short temper even shorter in seeing his least favorite teacher.

Tom, that is so rude. Just because you're in a foul mood about these exams doesn't mean you should take it out on people who will be grading your exams! Honestly. 

Tom looked properly chastised, her air tight logic not giving him any room to maneuver. 

“I'm sorry Professor. That was quite rude. I've been very stressed over these exams, I'm sure you understand.” Tom forced out, as much charm as he could muster in his state and on the only man it wouldn't work on. So, in other words, barely passable as far as apologies go.

“That's quite all right, Mr. Riddle. I understand, certainly. I once became quite flummoxed before exams myself. I do believe in my first year here I got so nervous before the final exam in Transfiguration that the cockroach I was supposed to be turning into a button turned a shade of blue heretofore never seen in nature. I didn't even have my wand. Still to this day have no idea how that happened.” He must have noticed the look of utter apathy on Tom's face, because he suddenly changed gears. “Right, well, not why I came. Professor Dippet would like to see you both after supper in his office. Do make time for him, won't you?”

“Of course, Uncle. Should we expect to see you there as well?”

“Yes, dear girl, I shall be there too. Until then.” And with a regal nod at Hermione, and only a mild look of disappointment at Tom, Dumbledore turned and left their cubby, his neon green robe trailing a good five feet behind him in a train one might see on a bridal dress.

Hermione turned to look at Tom, only to find his nose back in his book, a few scant inches from the text itself. She sighed and went back to her own book, puzzled as to what Dippet could possibly want from his two brightest students. Another Prophet article? Resigned to wait until after supper, Hermione turned her attention back to potion making.

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

When Tom scraped the last bite of his potatoes off his plate and into his mouth, Hermione pounced, already up and pulling him along behind her with Abraxas laughing at her back, used to her managing ways already.

“Hermione, slow down! They haven't even left the Head table yet.”

Seeing that he was right, she replied apologetically, “I guess you're right. Sorry. I'm just—I have no idea what this is about. The last time they called us into the Head's office it was to give that interview, and you know how I hate interviews.”

“You'd think you'd be avoiding going to the meeting then.”

“Yes, but I'm too curious. I want to know what this is about.”

“I do too, but we have to have some patience.” By this point they had reached the doors, and Dumbledore was just getting up from his seat and whispering something into the Headmaster's ear who then got up as well.

“Oh, there they go. See, I picked a perfect time.”

Tom just let it go.

They walked the halls to the gargoyle in comfortable silence, Hermione fretting over the meeting, and Tom doing advanced Arthimancy equations in his head. It only took the older wizards five long minutes to catch up. With quick greetings, Dippet lead them all into his office.

“Have a seat, have a seat, both of you. Albus, if you wouldn't mind conjuring your own chair, you just have such a flair for it that I can never manage to do it quite as well.”

“Certainly, Headmaster.” Next thing they knew, Dumbledore had seated himself in an Adirondack chair with a pleasant smile on his face and his wizard's hat crooked on his white hair, like this was normal behavior and not considered eccentric in any time period.

“What can we do for you, Headmaster?” Hermione asked, dying to know what all this was about.

She could see Tom composing himself beside her, his desire to roll his eyes only known by her. “Well, Miss Dumbledore, as you know, after this year I will be stepping down and allowing your dear Uncle Albus here to take over for me as Headmaster.”

Hermione certainly did not know that. Was she supposed to know that? She didn't pay as much attention to current events of the staff as she used to, especially with the threat of Voldemort under control and no signs of evil dictators besides him trying to rise up. Well, aside from that nasty Grindelwald, but he had nothing to do with the staff here.

“Of course, Professor. We wish him the best of luck,” Tom took over when he saw she needed a second to recover. Luckily he did this so smoothly that it was likely neither of the prominent wizards had realized she had been taken aback.

“Of course you do, Tom, m'boy. Anyway, anyway,” he replied, waving a hand in the air, “I called you two in here to meet with us because...well, this is not the usual procedure, you see, usually the students just find out in the owl post when they get their letter for the next year, but, in these circumstances...” He trailed off to the annoyance of everybody else in the room. Hermione judged by Dumbledore's pleasant but curious face that even he did not know where this was going.

Tom met her eyes and she could see that he had come to the same conclusion. Truly curious now, Tom, being his favorite, urged him to go on. “Yes, Headmaster? You wanted to tell us something, I gathered?”

Dippet jumped a bit, as if he had forgotten there were other people in his office. Perhaps it's a good thing he's giving up the office, huh? I mean, golly, he can't keep his train of thoughts on the ground, let alone on the right track, Tom spoke into her mind.

“Right. Right. Well, as next year we face a leadership change here at Hogwarts, I thought it would be best for the new Headmaster to work alongside not only his staff, but his two head students. Next year, the two of you will be Head Boy and Head Girl, though I'm sure that comes as no surprise to either of you.”

Hermione felt awful that, no, in fact, it did not come as a surprise to her. She didn't actively think about it much, like she knew Tom did, but given her academic record, her impeccable blood lines, and her superiority to the other students (others' words, not hers), it was no small wonder that they would make her Head Girl.

A rare, true, smile graced Tom's face when she turned to congratulate him with just a look. “Professors,” Tom began, his voice composed but laced with excitement whether that was crafted or real, Hermione couldn't quite tell, but she knew he was genuinely happy by the faint buzzing that was coming from their still mildly connected minds. It wasn't like him to forget to pull away from the connection after sharing a thought. “Headmaster, thank you for the honor. We will not let Professor Dumbledore or yourself down.”

Hermione thought this was an excellent time to chime in, “Yes. Thank you. I've been wanting to re-organize the prefect shifts since I figured out that they would be 25% more efficient if—“

“Thank you, Hermione,” Dumbledore cut her off, his eyes unreadable, “I'm sure there will never be a more efficient team of Heads after the pair of you leave. I look forward to working with both of you.”

“Good, good. Glad that's settled.” Dippet called for a toast, opened up a bottle of Ogden's and allowed Hermione and Tom a small tumbler of it, and poured large glasses for himself and Dumbledore. “Now we just have to figure out the prefects for each year for next year, and the three of you can set about organizing shifts, and things, and the like, or whatever the Heads actually do.”

“Actually sir,” Tom started, his charm on full blast. “I've been meaning to talk to you. I'm finally of age, and I will not be returning to the orphanage during the summer. Is there a way for me to remain at Hogwarts for the summer?”

A rare fatherly look crossed the Headmaster's face. He was a staunch man, not easily given to affection. It spoke wonders of his regard for Tom that he sympathized with his situation. “Tom, you know students are not allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays. Do you have no friends you could stay with? You're a popular boy, I'm sure you do.”

Hermione could see Tom struggle to keep his composure. “Sir the only person I trust to stay with is Hermione here, and she has no better prospects than myself.”

Dippet looked aghast. “Well, now, that's not true. She's staying with Dumbledore, correct?” At the nod of confirmation from Dumbledore himself, he continued, “Then you can just stay with her at Dumbledore's house. All the better reason for you to stay there. You can work on schedules and such things. Why, I wish I had thought of that to begin with. Excellent. It is done.”

“But Headmaster,” Dumbledore began, only to be cut off once more by his superior. 

“It is done.”

Hermione had to suppress a small giggle. She had never seen, nor even heard of anyone being able to cow Dumbledore into anything he didn't want to do. Dippet had several talents, it seemed, though being an actual Headmaster may not be among the top five. Or even the top twenty.

“Very well.” Dumbledore acquiesced. He turned to the two students, “You shall accompany Hermione to my house upon leaving the Hogwarts Express. She knows where it is, and how to get there via the floo network. You are quite welcome at Dumbledore House.”

Tom's voice only soured around the edges as he replied, “Thank you sir. I cannot tell you how I look forward to your hospitality.”

Ugh. These two with their strange animosity. Hermione could read their subtext like it was in plain English. Dumbledore resented being told to have his least favorite student reside in his own home, and Tom resented having to take his least favorite teacher's charity in order to avoid the only thing he hated more than the man in question, the orphanage. Sensing they would have a long talk about it later, and she would have to further convince him to actually stay there, Hermione tried to diffuse the tension that everybody but possibly Dippet could feel.

“Oh, lovely. This summer will be ever so enjoyable!” Okay, maybe she laid it on a bit thick, but the sentiment was true, regardless. “Tom, you and I can swim in the lake, and Uncle Albus has one of the largest collections of books in all of Magical Britain. If we really get a jump on it, we can possibly make the highest N.E.W.T. grades Hogwarts has seen since Uncle Albus!”

She could tell Tom knew her ploy, but that was fine, he could always see right through her anyway. Even when he knew she wouldn't tell him the secret, he always knew there was one. But the best thing about this was that he knew to go along. And he did.

“I didn't think about it like that, Hermione. Perhaps you're right. No, I know you're right. You always are, you know. We'll have a splendid time.”

Wow, that might have actually been worse than mine, Tom.

Really, because I thought my comment was 'ever so enjoyable!'

Jerk.

Backwards Girl.

Hermione just snorted at him. Then realized she had just seemingly snorted for no reason, and tried to cover it up with a coughing fit.

“Oh so sorry, guess that Ogden's finally caught up with me. Well, I suppose Tom and I should go. We do have exams in the morning, if you recall.”

Dippet and Dumbledore nodded, said their polite good-byes and the next thing she knew, Hermione and Tom were strolling down the corridor to the dungeons.

They walked a few minutes in silence before Tom broke it. “I hate being given charity.”

“I know, Tom.”

“No you don't know!” He said, suddenly stopping. His face had high patches of color, like he was barely containing his anger. “You don't know what it's like to be so.. so..”

“Condescended to when you know you are just as brilliant and maybe even more so to the person doing the condescending?”

He cracked a half smile. “How do you always know?”

“I wish I could say I was just that good at deducing your feelings, but I'm afraid this time it's from personal experience.”

“Something with your parents?” He pried. Tom rarely pried, and Hermione was grateful. He also knew when not to push, “Ah. Not the time.”

“You'll know soon enough.”

Tom didn't like to dwell on the subject, knowing she wouldn't budge and that there was no point lingering over it. So he changed the subject,

“I just hate having no money of my own. Absolutely nothing but the school's charity.”

“Then why don't you do something about it?”

“Like what? Sell my body behind Knockturn Alley?”

Hermione made to move again, not being able to look at him without giggling. And she was supposed to be scolding him for saying such things, what with being his moral compass and all.

“Tom! Don't say such things!”

“Oh come on, Hermione. It was just a joke. You know you thought it was funny.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Merlin you are such a child sometimes.”

“What, not always?”

“Weren't you the one who just pointed out that you're now an adult?”

“Good point.”

“And as an adult. They can't turn you down, should you, oh I dunno... invent something and patent it at the Ministry. They would have to give you royalties.” 

Tom met her wry grin, his own smirk taking over his handsome face. “Royalties, huh? I like the sound of that. But whose name should go first?”

“What?”

“You know, for our product names. Dumbledore and Riddle or Riddle and Dumbledore... neither really go together too well, I guess.”

Hermione looked at him blankly for a good ten seconds. “Our product names?”

He grinned full out, teeth and everything. “Well you can't expect me to do all the work if you're going to be living off this money too.”

Once again: “What?”

“For after we graduate.” She still looked lost. “Hermione we're going to need money. To get a flat. To get ourselves started. I mean, do you think galleons grow on trees? Because if they did, that would seriously upset the goblins. And no one wants to see those guys upset, especially me. So come on, Hermione. Get on board.”

“We're getting a flat?” was all she could say. Really, she was usually much more intelligent than this. Usually he didn't keep up with her, not the other way around. No fair.

“Well of course we are. You can't live with dear Uncle Albus when you're a grown woman. I mean, you need your own place. An adult place. A place to be an adult. Where we can start our adult lives.”

“Okay, I get it. Adult. Right. But... we're living together? When did you decide that?”

“Pretty much the moment I realized we were gonna be friends forever.”

She covered her emotional reaction with a teasing retort, “So last week?”

But he knew what she was doing, and just smiled. Suddenly he got more serious, all false bravado gone from his voice and Hermione couldn't help but see that eleven year old boy from all those years ago who saw Hogwarts for the first time and couldn't keep the wonder out of his eyes.

“Hermione. I don't want to be out in the world without you. We do everything together as it is. I don't like the idea of being separate from you. I just—I... oh bugger. You—you know I care about you right?”

She smiled benevolently. “Of course I do, silly.”

“And I know you care about me. I mean, just look at me.” He slipped into teasing mode, trying to lighten the mood a bit from his own confession. But just as easily slipped back. “Seriously though. Life is just too short to not be around the people you love all the time. So let's just share a flat.”

He loves me. Did he just tell me he loves me? In all six years of our friendship I've always just had to assume he did, but, wow, this is it... I've done it. I've officially taught Voldemort to love. Now there will never be a Voldemort. Ever. I've saved him.

“Hermione? Hermione? Are you okay?”

“What?”

“You just got lost in your own thoughts again.”

“Sorry. I just. That's the first time someone's told me they loved me since my parents died.”

His eyes, that change back and forth from silver to blue, were so piercingly blue in this moment and held so much compassion that it was unfathomable to even imagine that her old life had happened. She had now been here so long that it began to feel like her other life was the wrong time line. That this was always supposed to be reality.

“Then I'll endeavor to tell you more. Now c'mon, let's get back to studying. Oh, Merlin, the exams are in ten hours!”

“Oh shut your gob you wanker. You're gonna be fine.”

And the two of them walked back to the Slytherin Common Room wherein Hermione lounged on one of the few comfortable sofas while Tom crammed beyond N.E.W.T. level knowledge into his brain.

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

The exams, as expected, went brilliantly. If there were a word for more than brilliantly, then this would be a situation where it could and would be used. Tom did better-than-brillitanly and Hermione did just as better-than-brilliantly, and together they were head, shoulders, and upper torso above the rest of the Sixth Year. 

Quickly the time came to leave Hogwarts for the summer, and after two lengthy conversations with Tom about why he absolutely couldn't back out (“No, you can't spend the summer backpacking in Africa and living off of magic and petty thievery!”), Hermione found herself boarding the Hogwarts Express right between Abraxas and Tom. Not a place she ever liked to be.

Hermione's relationship with Abraxas had been going... way more smoothly than she had anticipated. He was attentive, but not overly so. He was intelligent, and could mostly keep up with her. Or at least be in the same ballpark, playing the same spot. Some boys were trying to play hopscotch while she was playing chess. So, all in all it could have been worse.

She didn't count on the passion. Her days at Hogwarts with Abraxas had mostly consisted of ignoring him, wondering why so many girls were enthralled with him, and trying to pin down any resemblance to Draco. It took her by surprise, then, when he didn't back down from her, when he played devil's advocate for practices and theories that she knew he didn't support, just to be able to argue with her.

It was actually quite pathetically sad how long it took Hermione to realize that he enjoyed arguing with her just to see that spark in her eye, that he went out of his way to make her angry, just to see her “blazing beauty.” Hermione wasn't used to being treated as a woman. Sure, the differences in gender roles had been force fed to her, especially in light of her frowned upon friendship with a boy, but men in the '40's just treated women...differently. There was a touch of reverence mixed in with the belittling. Men were treated, in a word, better. Like they were more. Worth more, knew more, capable of more. And Hermione tried so damn hard not to dwell on it, because this wasn't her time and this wasn't her fight. It would work itself out in the next fifty years, and in the meantime she would just be scary as hell with a wand and force people to respect her.

But Abraxas treated her like an equal, like he was aware of her ladyness, he even helped her up onto the train with a hand on her back. But he was in equal parts awe and terror of her wrath that he couldn't treat her as anything other than an equal. 

So they kind of fit, in a weird way that was many parts fighting, endlessly bickering, teasing, one-upping, the occasional full blown fight, and a smaller part making up, small moments of mutual respect and understanding, but above all, companionship.

Hermione never considered herself someone who needed constant companionship, and truthfully she wasn't, but whenever she had needed it, Tom had always been the one to fill that gap, and before him Harry and Ron. But Harry and Ron had come as a package deal, whereas Tom and Abraxas had to be carefully balanced. They couldn't handle quality time together. Which meant that Abraxas suffered a bit of a drought Hermione-wise while Tom had his freak out over exams. 

But Hermione knew that Abraxas was intelligent. Not nearly as much as she and Tom, of course, but he had a good head on his shoulders for people, and he knew not to push her when it came to Tom or he would lose her. She saw him bite back many comments when she would make an excuse to go see Tom. She saw the struggle in his eyes when she elected to sit with Tom during breakfast and in Potions. And she saw the dark edge around his face when Tom would brush against her accidentally, or worse, when he would touch her deliberately, be it something as small as tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention.

So Hermione tip toed around the situation, granting both of them time with her like a small child in a divorced family. She hated it. She hated that the most important person in her life didn't get along with the only other person who could possibly understand her to the same depth as him. She hated that they were oil and water. Abraxas, with his oily and purposeful voice, an enhancement to her life, and enrichment. And Tom, her water. An essential part of life. There's no living without water. She'd tried it.

Alas, in the back of her mind, Hermione knew who she would pick if it came down to it, but that didn't stop her from trying to have her cake and eat it too. She had selfishly traveled to the past to prevent a war. Was it too much to ask for some personal happiness?

She continued to ignore it. She would see Tom or Abraxas glare at one another, resolve to do something, but then come up short as to what to do, and just... put it off until the next time. It was a vicious cycle, but she couldn't stop. Stopping would mean choosing. And choosing would be... hard. 

Just like with the mysterious black owl, Hermione put it off. Who was this person, she wondered, who was this girl who puts things off? What happened to the girl that researched everything, who found all the answers, who made everything okay? Where did her gumption go? Why was she letting herself do this?

“Hermione?”

The end of the summer. She gave herself until the end of the summer to come up with a solution. Well, she always did work better with a goal and a time limit. September 1st, then.

“Um, Hermione?”

But when would she even find the time? In between creating potions with Tom, writing letters religiously to Abraxas, and getting to the bottom of the owl mystery, Hermione just knew she was going to be spread thin this summer.

“HERMIONE!”

“For the love of Merlin, WHAT?”

Abraxas looked contrite. “Oh, uh, just... we're about an hour out.” Then his pale skin turned just a little bit pink around the apples of his cheeks. “I was just wondering if you'd want to say good bye in private?”

“Oh.” And darn her stomach for turning all gooey. “Yeah. Yeah, just let me... yeah. I'll... yeah” She made a vague gesture to the door to the compartment. “I'll meet you in the hall.”

He looked a bit confused, probably wondering why they couldn't just walk out together.

But when he shut the door behind him, Hermione turned to Tom who was smashed next to a gregarious Natasha Nott talking over his stomach to Cygnus Black, both of them flirting over the top outrageously and making Tom look like he wanted to die. 

“Tom.” She whispered, not wanting to disturb the mating dance of one Natasha Nott. But he heard her anyway, as he always did. “I'm going into the hallway, I'll be gone for a bit. If I'm not back by the time we get to the platform, meet me at the wall, okay?”

He nodded, looking a bit betrayed at being left behind to suffer alone.

She quietly squeezed out the door, jostling two Seventh Year girls in a heated debate about which Gryffindor Quidditch players were the most foul looking.

Abraxas was waiting just outside the door, his shoulders a bit tense. Hermione had no idea why she wanted to tell Tom to meet her in private. In fact, she had no idea why she hadn't told Abraxas that Tom was staying with her. Except that, she kinda did. She knew he wouldn't like it. And she was just tired of fighting. Silently fighting, whatever, but it still counts. She was tired of his worry, his eyes following her to Tom's side. It just, wasn't any of his business. Well, except that it kinda was. Ugh. They were in a relationship and she was knowingly keeping information from him. She was the worst. Funny that even knowing that what she was doing was wrong, she knew she was going to do it anyway. She was going to keep it from him.

She came up behind him, but her hand on his strong back, and whispered into his ear. “Hey, there you are. Want to find a quiet compartment?”

He turned, met her eyes and nodded. Hermione ignored the silent question in his eyes. But by this point, she'd gotten quite good at ignoring things.


	6. Chapter 6

_June 30, 1942_

The summer started off with a bang. Quite literally. When Hermione met Tom on the platform after leaving a red-cheeked Abraxas, several things happened at once in quick succession. First of all, Hermione's eyes had been following her boyfriend as he made his way to his family, and she couldn't help but meet his terrifying mother's eyes and read the disgust positively oozing out of them. Surprise surprise.

 

Secondly, Hermione noticed that the platform was mostly empty and that her final goodbye kiss to Abraxas must have been a bit longer than they intended it to be, but she couldn't have just given in to the You-Leave-First-No-You-Leave-First game.

 

And thank Merlin that it was mostly empty, because the third thing to happen eclipsed both of the other things.

 

A loud BANG erupted out of the wall by Tom's head. With her eyes awkwardly locked on the current Mrs. Malfoy's eyes, Hermione didn't note that it _was_ right by Tom's head until she swung her head around at the loud noise.

 

In true form for the hero of Hogsmeade, Tom had his wand whipped out before Hermione had completely turned her neck. Before she could even process her worry and gratefulness that whatever had made the bang hadn't actually hit his head, Tom was muttering over the wall and waving his wand in loopy circles, his wrist fraught with tension.

 

Quickly though, he stashed his wand.

 

“What are you doing? Don't put your wand away!” She said as her own wand shook a bit in its perfect form for dueling. “What if they attack again?”

 

But Tom looked resolute. “He's not going to attack again here. I know what this is.”

 

Hermione gazed at him expectantly. When his words were not forthcoming, she bit out another question. “Well? What is this? What are you talking about?”

 

“I'll tell you in a minute. Just... not here.” He said, eyeing the stragglers from the train hurrying off to their final destinations. For all that Hermione had thought a freaking bomb had gone off, on her second look at the magical wall between the Muggle train station and the Wizarding one, she could see that a hole barely the size of her own fist had been smashed into it. While not very threatening, the loud impact and the dust from the bricks caused more of a panic than the actual explosion. Perhaps a stunner from the other side? Risky in Muggle London.

 

“C'mon,” he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her off, “Let's get out of here. Take us to Dumbledore's.”

 

Running along behind him, Hermione shouted to make him hear, “I'm not supposed to because I don't actually have my license yet, but I'll just apparate us. I don't want to be here any longer than we have to.” She had plenty of other reasons to back up using illegal magic (Having a valid license from 1998 not being one of them) but Tom didn't wait to hear them, already on board with her plan.

 

“Good idea. Do it.”

 

And in the split second between their heart beats, she did just that. You don’t spend months fighting a war where you might have to apparate in a split second just to forget how to do it.

 

The squeeze through the tube feeling, on the other hand, she was glad to have forgotten... or repressed.

 

Suddenly they were sprawled out on a green lawn (her landings might have become a bit spotty in the fifty years between then and now), and looking up at Dumbledore Manor. 

 

Albus' personal home was bought in his lifetime from his hard earned royalties that came with discovering the twelve uses of Dragon's blood. It was a large house with about fifteen different bedrooms to choose from. The most spectacular part of it, at least in Hermione's opinion, and she had spent more time here in the last six years than even Dumbledore had, was definitely the lake.

 

It looked like what the idea of a lake should look like. Sometimes when people talk about something being so great and the idea of it gets built up to the point that confronting it for oneself makes the whole experience upsetting and the object itself anticlimactic... well this lake is about the complete opposite of that to Hermione. For her, the lake was like the one thing no one could ever get right on paper, descriptions of it, photos of it Muggle and Wizarding ones, none of them captured this lake like truly being in front of it.

 

It was this lake she retreated to in her mind. Her Occlumency came straight from her memories of it, the calm water, the smell of water and fecund soil, all of it calmed her—centered her.

 

She forgot her queries about the platform in her joy at returning to her lake. After a few seconds of basking in the sights and the smells, and promising herself a good swim in it after the sun went down, Hermione turned back to look at her friend to find him already looking at her, his gaze like an x-ray.

 

“You really love this place, huh?”

 

“Just the lake.” She replied. “The house is just a house—a superior library, to be sure, but just a house. This lake, on the other hand, has some sort of magical property to it that I haven't… I haven’t been able to put my finger on in all the time I've been coming here.” She shook her head, the light from the setting sun falling onto her face and making her feel majestic.

 

They were silent a minute, and then Tom ventured a thought forward. “This is the lake from your mind, isn't it?”

 

“Yes, I'm glad you caught that.”

 

“I thought you had just made that up.”

 

She smiled sweetly, “I'm clever, but not creative enough to invent an entire lake as perfect as this one.”

 

Hermione wouldn't let Tom prolong the upcoming conversation any longer, however, and so she got down to business. “So what in Salazar's name was that?”

 

He sighed. “Inside first. Then we talk.”

 

Even knowing there was no way anyone could eavesdrop on them out here by the lake, Hermione bit her lip and let him have a few more precious seconds to come up with the perfect way to explain what just happened.

 

He followed her into the house. They took a few minutes for Hermione to greet the house elves, especially Pinkie who loved Hermione the most, the elves’ excitement bringing life into the empty house. Eventually she extricated herself from their hugs and frog marched Tom up to her usual bedroom, the closest to the library.

 

When they entered the room, Hermione gave his chest a hard shove, pushing him onto the bed. “Explain.”

 

“Grindelwald has been trying to make me his new protégé since the Hogsmeade Incident.”

 

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

 

“He keeps owling me. I've been blowing him off—I'm not interested in being a Dark wizard.”   Hermione did another mental pat on the back. “And I figured he'd stop, that he'd get the hint.”

 

“But he didn't.”

 

“No,” he confirmed. “He didn't. Or rather, he didn't like my answer.” Tom pulled his wand out and started twirling it.

 

She put his words together quickly. “And his answer to your refusal was... what happened at Platform 9 ¾?”

 

“Yes.”

 

They fell into a comfortable silence for a beat. “Well you can't be safer from him than where you are now.” Hermione said, upbeat. There wasn’t really anything they could do about the situation at this exact second. Could they go to Dumbledore? Sure, but that would just lend more paranoia to the old man about Tom’s true intentions. They were only here and together because the Headmaster forced this. “There’s no way he can get to you here. Uncle Albus has this place under every security measure known to wizard kind.”

 

“That's true.”

 

“Did you keep his letters?” She asked.

 

“Of course.” Tom enlarged the trunk he pulled from his pocket and removed a pile of letters bound together at the bottom of the trunk. Hermione poured over them. They got increasingly dark, like Grindelwald thought he could lure Tom away from Hermione by appealing to the dark side in him that Hermione replaced. It was the last one that shook her the most.

 

“'Say yes or watch your back.'” She read aloud.

 

“Yeah. Not very eloquent there is he?”

 

Hermione agreed. “Especially not in comparison to his earlier work. The passage about disembowelment in the second letter was especially nice in my opinion.”

 

“No, I completely agree. Of all the passages about cutting someone open and ripping their organs out—it's definitely the best. Easily in the top five, at least.”

 

Hermione huffed a well needed laugh. “So what do we do?”

 

“Don't you think I've been thinking about that?” He asked quietly, but with conviction. “There isn't really anything to do. I sent a respectful letter declining his offer and now he's threatening me. It’s not like I have anything to tell the Ministry or whoever. I have no idea where he is, or what he’s doing.”

 

Hermione conceded the point. Tom had four months to think of something better. “I guess there's not much to do right now, but I'm going to search the library anyway.”

 

“Of course you are.” Tom teasingly rolled his eyes. “For now, let's focus on making as many new potions as we can, build up our royalties. It'll be easier to combat him if we have more resources.” Hermione nodded, not liking the idea of letting it go without doing anything about it. “Besides, like you said, I'm safer here than I am anywhere else.”

 

“That is true.”

 

“Of course it's true. Would I lie to you?” She cocked an eyebrow, asking herself the same question. “Okay, by omission, perhaps, but never to your face.”

 

“So anyway,” she changed the subject, “what's your first idea for a potion? And did you read those books about Potion Making I told you to read?”

 

“Yes I read them. The point Bulbadeer made in _Babbling Potion-Making_ dovetails perfectly with my best idea...”

 

And they were off.

 

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Mother was not happy about the scare on the Platform, but luckily that kept her from making any snide comments about you for a while. I rather don’t think she likes you, but I’m not sure if that has more to do with who your uncle is, or the fact that she watched me stick my tongue down your throat. Alas, we shall never know._

_How has your summer been so far? I know we just parted, but I already miss you so much. This is going to be the world’s longest summer, I can already feel it. Will you write to me and let me know you got to your uncle’s safely? I’m trying not to worry too much about you. I know you’re a strong witch, but no one has ever attacked the Platform before._

_Stay safe, and in the meantime, tell me a secret. I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Abraxas xxx_

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

That night Tom and Hermione merely talked about their ideas, rattling them off so quickly that Hermione had to charm her quill to keep up because her hand certainly couldn’t. Tom focused more on potions that would give the user extra powers. He seemed fascinated with the idea of having an advantage over other people. Hermione tended to lean towards healing potions and potions that would help a war effort. It was very subconscious, but luckily Tom overlooked it.

 

By the time Winnie served dinner they had a nice long list to start from and had ranked the potions into which would give them the most revenue. A proper potion master would probably have a fit in them creating potions based on money alone. Her mind conjured an amusing picture of Severus Snape’s aghast face, his hair turning colors like in the potion they decided to work on first.

 

She chastised herself for finding amusement at Snape’s expense. It was his hard work that allowed her to come this far and in the young, de-aged body of hers, after all. He found the recipe in the bowels of the Ministry while spying and tweaked it just enough to de-age someone back ten years. Between the precious few people left in the Order at the time, Hermione was the only person who would have been of age to attend Hogwarts, and it just so happened that it would put her in her first year. Dumbledore and Snape, the two most senior members of the Order had made the decision together, with Hermione’s input, to send her back in one last desperate attempt to right the wrongs that Voldemort had inflicted upon the world.

 

She didn’t like dwelling on things, that was a lifetime ago and she would never be going back. Why think on what was when what is now is so different? Hermione ate another bite of her corn chowder and met Tom’s eyes across the table. It was so good to share this with someone else, especially Tom.

 

Hermione knew that she and Tom were the only two students who didn’t look forward to the summer break. For one, Hermione spent the majority of her summer worrying constantly about how Tom was getting along in his summer. Tom, on the other hand, dealt with bombings from the Muggle war, rationing of his food, and nothing keeping him tethered to the people around him. Hermione worried that if there was any time that he would draw ever closer to that dark place in his soul, that it would be during the summertime when he was surrounded by those _inferior_ to him. She had nightmares that he would forget her, see the horror going on in the Muggle world and give it up as a bad job.

 

Happiness crept up her spine as they made their way into the main course. He was here to stay with her. All summer. They would never be forcefully separated again. He wanted to share a flat after they graduated, they were going to start a life together.

 

Hermione ignored the small voice that dared to ask what she would do when he decided he was going to start his real life, with a wife and 2.5 kids and perhaps a dog. She hushed herself. Tom didn’t even like dogs. He wouldn’t abandon her to this world alone. They had clung tightly to each other for six years now, they weren’t about to give that up. Tom wasn’t her brother, he could never be her brother, but he was her family. He was her entire support system and she was his. They had made it through rough patches that would destroy friendships lesser than theirs, and they were closer for it.

 

Her heart sank. The only real threat of their separation was him leaving of his own volition. When he turned eighteen, and that was only six months away now, he might see what was hidden in her head and break off all ties with her, with that monster version of himself that now only lived within her memories and greatest fears.

 

They ate their meal silently, until Hermione, so caught up in her fears now, couldn’t take the quiet anymore. “I can’t wait to tell you, you know. When you’re eighteen.”

 

His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. “I know, Mione.”

 

She couldn’t just leave it at that though, not this time. “I would have told you already. I know you can handle it, and I just hate having this hanging over our heads. I can’t quite be certain how you’ll react—I have high hopes, but in the end, this is the kind of news that will make or break you and… as much as I want to get it over with, I can’t help but be a bit happy that Uncle Albus is forcing us to wait so I can have you longer.”

 

He stared at her in silence. She didn’t blame him. Without knowing what she was blabbering on about, he couldn’t properly reassure her.

 

“Because what if it’s so bad that you leave? What if I overestimated you, and you can’t handle it and you leave me? I can’t… I can’t be alone, Tom. I can’t. I can’t.”

 

He came around the table, dropping his napkin to the floor to bring her into a hug.

“Hermione. Hey, hey, Hermione. It’s okay.”

 

“No it isn’t. It isn’t okay. I just hate this.”

 

“I know, and I hate it too, right? At least you know what it is and are just imagining the fall out. I’ve been coming up with the worst scenarios since I was thirteen, and now I have to worry about the fallout as well. You’ve obviously got the better deal here.” His big arms made soothing circles on her back, and Hermione found her face pressed against a muscular chest.

 

“Maybe you’re right.”

 

He snorted. “Why do you always have to put ‘maybe’ or ‘perhaps’ in front of the sentence that tells me I’m right? Of course I’m right, I’m always right.”

 

She pulled back to give him a look. “You’re always right?”

 

He smiled unabashedly, a bit of cockiness making its way onto his face. “Well, except when _you_ are. Which is always.”

 

She giggled at his ridiculousness and she figured that was the whole point anyway. “Just promise me one thing, Tom.”

 

“What’s that, Princess?” He asked, still holding her lightly in his embrace next to their still warm dinner.

 

“When you find out, let me know what you’re thinking. If you’re going to leave, I’ll respect that, just tell me before you go. Let me say goodbye.”

 

“Easy. I promise. I can definitely do that.” He pulled back, “Now can we finish dinner? I’m not used to eating so much anywhere that isn’t Hogwarts and this is quite amazing.”

 

“Merlin, you’re such a boy sometimes.”

 

Now he looked truly offended, and the fact that he even looked offended tipped Hermione off that he wasn’t serious at all. “A boy, Hermione? You wound me.”

 

“You’re not going to start calling yourself a man now are you?”

 

Tom pouted at her teasing. “I am a man. I’m of age. Man.” He thumped his chest like a caveman, drawing more giggles from his companion. “Food. Sleep. Ugga Ugga. Pretty woman.”

 

“Salazar, you’re something, you know that?”

 

He grinned back at her from his side of the table once more. “I’ve been told.” He winked.

 

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Mother still has not shut up about you, but Father agrees with me on your beauty. That just gave Mother more motivation to hate you, sadly. How have things been? Have you heard from Natasha or Cygnus or anybody? Do you even get letters there?_

_I guess I’ll figure it out in a few days if you don’t get post and I just keep sending owls like an idiot. Until then, though, must assume you’re reading this. I haven’t heard from you. Please just send a quick note saying you’re alright._

_Abraxas xxx_

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

After the emotional dinner, the two Slytherins parted ways in the ultimate Gryffindor’s house, Tom taking the bedroom on the other side of Hermione’s. She would be flattered, thinking he wanted to be close to her, but she knew in reality that he chose that bedroom for the same reason she chose hers—proximity to the library. They were cut from the same cloth, she and Tom.

 

Hermione discovered two letters on her bed upon entering the room. The elves had barely had time to take their luggage up and prepare dinner. Who could possibly have written her twice?

 

She saw the Malfoy crest on the seal and immediately felt guilty. She hadn’t even wondered if Abraxas was okay after the bombing earlier that day. Sure, she’d assumed he was because she had insider knowledge. Grindelwald was after Tom and no one else. Plus, Abraxas was with his parents and the Malfoys were many things, but they were all of them talented wizards.

 

Still, she couldn’t shake a lingering sense of guilt and duty and quickly read his missives. That did nothing to assuage the guilt, though writing him back and sending poor Winnie to send the letter did help to make her feel better about the situation.

 

She went through her nightly routine, getting ready for bed. She read two chapters in two different books and tried to go to sleep. When her eyes were no closer to closing than they were an hour before, Hermione gave up. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until she’d had a dunk in the Lake.

 

It wasn’t really a tradition, per se, but the first night of Hermione’s stay at Albus’ place, she’s always somehow wound up in the cool water. By night the water was freezing, the early summer sun still not warm enough to heat the water, but Hermione felt a connection to nature there that she couldn’t replicate anywhere else.

 

It called to her like a siren. With a sense of excitement, Hermione threw her bathrobe on over her nightgown and made her way as silently as possible. She could shift into the fox, but that felt like cheating for some reason.

 

Closing the front door behind her, and grateful that Albus had extended the wards passed the lake after the first time he found her there in the middle of the night, Hermione slipped easily onto the path that ran to her favorite spot beside the calm waters. Between her third and fourth years, Albus erected a dock along the spot to make it easier for her to swim there. More likely, the elves nagged him into it, but Hermione enjoyed it all the same.

 

She walked around the last bend in the trail, excited to see her haven when she noticed a dark head already making himself at home on the dock. Tom’s slim ankles dangled above the water. His face was looking up, like one might look at the sun while sun bathing on a beach, like he was soaking in the rays of the moon.

 

Hermione slowed her pace, hesitant to disturb him. She decided in the end that he knew she would likely be here and so must have anticipated that he might not be alone for the evening. Perhaps he even wanted the company.

 

She stalked silently towards him, took her bathrobe off and folded it gently to sit on. He didn’t look away from the moon when she finally sat down and figured he must have heard her coming down the path.

 

The two of them sat silently for several minutes, basking in the moon and in each other’s calming presence. Hermione wasn’t going to let him keep her from the reason she came down. Without glancing at Tom, she began to take her nightdress off.

 

She didn’t hear him faint or anything, so she figured he was fine. She looked out over the moon-lit water, small crystals skating across the surface of the lake, and she dove in.

 

Hermione wasn’t kidding about the water being freezing. Her toes already felt like they might fall off. She used her legs to hold her up while she pushed her hair out of her eyes. A splash landed over to her right and seconds later, Tom’s dark hair was bobbing along next to her.

 

They shared a smile, still not talking. She briefly touched her mind to his, just to check his overall mood. He allowed her to see his contemplativeness, his confusion about the summer, his cold body. His desire to remain silent reflected hers and she was glad once again for finding a friend so similar to her in this world. Not many people had a second chance to find someone who truly complemented them. She was lucky to have found such close friends in Harry and Ron, but the connection with Tom was something she wouldn’t trade for the world. Even if she could go home right now to the ‘90’s and have Harry and Ron be alive—she wouldn’t take the chance.

 

A stream of water hit her square in the face. She caught Tom’s eye—he wasn’t even trying not to laugh. Oh, it’s was on! Hermione dove under the water with the practice of one who does this often, and felt around her with hand until she grabbed Tom’s foot and pulled him under. They both broke the surface and the fight began. She splashed him back, right in the face, and they water wrestled until they were both breathing hard and having trouble keeping themselves afloat.

 

 _Uncle!_ Hermione capitulated, and Tom let her go. She didn’t realize they wound up so close, but when she eventually recovered her breath, she was surprised to find his face so near and his eyes not looking at her own. She followed his eye line and blushed for a second. But he wasn’t looking at her breasts.

 

One of his hands came delicately out of the water and reached for her chest. He bobbed along less controlled, but the strength of his arms allowed him to tread water with little noticeable difference. Those long admired fingers clamped around the necklace she never took off.

 

 _You still wear it._ His mind brushed against hers like an embrace. She caught his eyes, their noses almost brushing they were now so close. He was smiling shyly at her, that damned vulnerability he hid so well on full display. She knew it would make him uncomfortable for someone to see him like this, even her. His pleasure at his gift being on display did not go unnoticed.

 

“Always.” She took off, swimming a bit away, needing to get away from that moment. She didn’t need to explain to him that the snake necklace with the purple eyes was her most treasured possession in this timeline. The first gift from her greatest friend, the first gift he’d ever given anybody, she treasured the thought behind it almost as much as the actual gift.

 

Hermione took a deep breath and leaned back to look up at the stars and moon, floating on her back, her breasts visible under the night sky. She was free here.

 

A disturbance in the water to her left alerted her to his new position. He joined her, copied her movements until he could float as easily as her. They stayed in those exact positions for what felt like hours, just looking at the stars and synchronizing their breaths, not speaking.

 

His hand brushed hers when he got a bit too close. It didn’t bother her, it felt like an extension of her own body. “Are you happy, Hermione?”

 

She answered without hesitating. “Yes.”

 

His hand brushed her again. “How long have you had that scar on your chest?”

 

She contemplated what to say for a second and decided on the truth. “Since I was sixteen.”

 

“But a scar like that came from dark magic, you would have to have been in the hospital wing for days. You didn’t get it from the Hogsmeade Incident, did you?”

 

She read between the lines clearly and soothed him, brushing her hand deliberately across his to help calm him down. “No, Tom. You protected me just fine. I got this scar when I was sixteen and that’s all I can tell you until you’re eighteen. You’ll understand then, I promise.”

 

His frustration hummed out of his body, his tensed up shoulders now forcing him lower and lower into the water.

 

“Come on, let’s go in.”

 

They swam back to the dock, dressing with their backs to each other. Hermione shouldn’t have looked, she knew that, but she’d heard the girls of Hogwarts talking about Tom Riddle’s bum for well over three years now and she just had to know. With just her nightgown, it took her less time to dress than him and when she pulled the hem over her head, she turned her body sideways, enough to allow her to rove her eyes over his backside.

 

She hated to admit that his fan club was right. It was a mighty nice arse, if you were into those kinds of things. Which apparently Hermione now was. As nice as that arse was, it was the back that had her slightly drooling. When did he develop those muscles? He hadn’t worked out a day in his life, as far as she knew.

 

“Are you done ogling, Hermione?” Tom asked, amusement clear in his voice.

 

She blustered. “I wasn’t ogling. I was checking to see if you have leeches on your back. You’re fine and you’re welcome, by the way.”

 

Leeches. Those were animals that lived in lakes and ponds, right? But probably not in England. Oh damn. She punished herself internally for her obvious cover up and didn’t feel him sneak up next to her to breath in her ear.

 

“Does that mean I need to check you too?”

 

He was pressed against her, his body one long, hot length against her. “I know what you’re doing, Tom Riddle. It doesn’t work on me.” She pushed off away from him, and started up the trail to the house, her dressing gown flying behind her like a flag.

 

His footsteps were never more than a few feet behind her, no matter how face she went. “Oh, I think it works a little bit,” he teased her, “what with the ogling and everything.”

 

“Oh shut up, you arrogant arse.”

 

“Yes and did you enjoy this arrogant arse?”

 

That brought her up short. Her mind whirled for seconds while she studied his stupid, prideful face. Finally it clicked, and she felt a small smirk take over her lips.

 

“Perhaps about as much as you enjoyed staring at my scar and necklace. Were you happy to have excuses for why you were staring at my breasts, Tom?”

 

His grin didn’t fade one bit. In fact, it grew larger like he was proud that she got back at him. “It’s not my fault you gave me two—well, four—things to stare at.”

She rolled her eyes in what seemed to be her natural reaction to him these days. “Once again, you’re such a boy.”

 

This did make his smile slide off. “Hey!”

 

“You’re not a man yet, Tom.”

 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his bare chest. He had roughly pulled his trousers on in his hurry to keep up with her. “Are you an expert on the subject, Hermione? Because I feel very much like a man.” To exacerbate his point, he pulled her hand up to his chest, placing her palm on his pectoral muscle. “I have the muscles of a man,” he continued, moving her hand to his abdominals that stood out proudly from his stomach. He slowly began to pull it lower, “the cock of a man—“

 

“Okay,” she called, pulling her hand back faster than a firebolt.

 

Tom flashed his teasing smile and in that second she hated him a little bit. “’Okay, you’re right, you’re a man, Tom?’ or ‘Okay, I admit I’m wrong, Tom?’” She hated him a little more for that.

 

They were equals, he was the only one who couldn’t be steam rolled by her and vice versa. He wasn’t allowed to have _this_ power over her—let alone use it! They were equally matched in everything, they were—Oh! _They were equally matched in everything._ Once again a foreign force took over her body, because the next thing she did was definitely not her or something she would ever think about doing.

 

“Okay, I admit I’m wrong, Tom. You are a man. A big,” she pulled herself back to his chest, pushing her breasts out to mash them against the chest he was so proud of, “strong,” she rolled her hips up into his, “man.” She felt the stirrings of his reaction before he pulled away.

 

“Yeah, two can play that game, sweet heart,” with that, she turned tail and made her way back up to the house, calling over her shoulder one last thing, “See you in the morning.”

 

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow, but long enough to hear the lack of the door opening and closing in the room next to hers.

 

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_I’m so glad to hear you’re alright! Did you hear about the Tornadoes? Four from the team are on England’s national team for the World Cup. Isn’t that amazing? I bet Falldozer and Fallon are going to…._

(Three unread paragraphs about Quidditch)

 

_You just have to come for a visit. Say you will. I’ll keep Mother in line, don’t worry. Her bark is worse than her bite. Write back and tell me everything. I miss you._

_< 3 Abraxas xxx_

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

Abraxas’ next letter came with breakfast, and the guilt upon reading his letter (or, not reading some sections) doubled from the guilt of yesterday’s. Sure, yesterday she’d completely forgotten to check if he was safe and that was bad enough, but after she wrote back to her _boyfriend_ she still used her feminine wiles to win a silly argument with Tom. She was a horrible significant other.

 

To make up for it, Hermione wrote a long letter back, detailing her room and what project she was going to be working on first, decidedly leaving Tom out of the entire thing. She wrote a quick line about Abraxas’ precious Tornadoes, just enough for him to know she recognized that he wrote about them, but hopefully little enough to discourage more talk of them.

 

Thirty minutes into breakfast, Tom appeared, haggard and sleepy. By mutual silent agreement, they did not talk of the night before. After his hearty breakfast of bangers and mash, Tom retreated to the laboratory on the second floor, awaiting Hermione so they could start their first potion. She hastily scrawled out her name on the bottom of the letter, handed it to Winnie and went up to meet him. Potion creating trumped annoying boyfriend any day. Surely he would understand that.

 

If either Tom or Hermione were surprised at how well they worked together creating potions, neither of them showed it. Their innate ability to read one another, let alone each other’s minds, allowed for an easy partnership while brewing. They talked a lot in the early stages of the process—what their goal was, how it could best be accomplished, which ingredients would be needed and in what order and amount. However, by the time they arrived at the trials, they were so aware of each other’s thoughts and processes that they rarely needed to say more than a few words. They had been brewing since first year together, after all. This was just a bit different, more volatile, but still just Tom and Hermione brewing a potion together.

 

It was no small feat that they had their first working potion by the end of the first week. Two more, the week after that. With three under their belts, Hermione and Tom decided it was time to send an owl to the Ministry about their discoveries. If they just sent in one potion, they might not be taken seriously, as Hermione Dumbledore was known to be just seventeen and still at school and Tom was seen in the Ministry as a vigilante who had no respect for the letter of the law.

 

By sending in three at once, they showed their seriousness in the business, that they were accomplished potion makers and had the talent and drive to put these on the market—either through legal channels or not.

 

Hermione insisted on just using the name Riddle for their label and company name. She didn’t want to see her false name on their hard work, nor did she want Uncle Albus to get credit for her labor, let alone Tom’s. Those two did not need one more thing to come between their very tenable peace. Tom accepted the decision pretty easily and Hermione put it down to him coming to the same conclusion. Plus ‘Riddle’ sounded like a proper company name, and an intriguing potion label. As a consumer, Hermione would find the name on the label interesting.

 

They congratulated themselves later that night as they watched their owl fly off in the sunset. At the periphery of the property, a black owl hooted. Hermione saw it and Tom’s shoulders tensed up. They didn’t speak of it, just went down to dinner, both of them quieter for the reminder of Grindelwald still lurking in the background.

 

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry I haven’t responded to your letter until now. Mother has me helping her in the garden like a common house elf. I know house elves are important to you, and I support that, but I don’t exactly want to be doing their work for them._

_Anyway, I’m disappointed you can’t come for a visit, but if you’re_ (Hermione bristled at his incorrect grammar) _uncle would be more comfortable with you there, then who am I to oppose his wishes?_

_Hope things are going well wherever you are._

_Abraxas_

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Hermione!_

_Hello darling. Things are tediously boring at Nott Manor right now. My lovely sister refuses to acknowledge me outside of meals when she needs the salt. But luckily Cygnus and his family have issued an invitation for me to visit them for the rest of the summer. I’m so thankful that we’ve become friends, he’s such a dear. I hope you got that new hair potion I sent to you—though I hate that it’s named ‘Riddle.’ Isn’t that something Tom would take offense to, someone using his name on their products? Oh well, I hope you’re less bored than me, but with that library you talk about in your sleep, I bet you’re anything but bored. I miss you._

_Your friend,_

_Natasha_

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

Hermione did indeed get Natasha’s package and she was not surprised in the least that the Nott twins were one of the first to have the new must-have hair product out on the market for less than a week. Although, Hermione knew that their mother had connections in the top fashion firms around the world—Milan, Paris, ect, so she must have been one of the first to get word about it’s amazing effects.

 

Little did the world know that Hermione knew first. Natasha would believe Hermione capable of brewing it, but she would have trouble believing that it had been Tom’s idea and Tom’s work that made it possible. Hermione was responsible for testing it, what with her hair and all, but it made her giggle to herself when she remembered Tom’s proposal of the idea. Hermione knew by the tone of his voice that he was just teasing when he brought it up, but at her glare he tried to pretend like he’d been serious all along and before she knew it, he was calling out ideas about ingredients and they had a working plan.

 

The next day, they’d tried it out on a transfigured dog first, and then her later when the test was a success. Riddle’s Easy Slick Potion for Wild Haired Witches was their most commercial success: the royalties off that potion went through the roof. Already they had enough for a comfortable flat for three months and the potion had only been on the market for three weeks.

 

Moreover, the potion was giving them a strong foothold in the Potion Brewing community. After Riddle’s Easy Slick’s success, the chances of witches and wizards using more of their products was skyrocketing. Hermione and Tom’s promise to themselves and their customers to give quality potions that worked every time was going to make them rich. Hermione started to question if she would even need a job in the real world, they made such a good team and such good products—perhaps she could retire young and see the world. Then Tom could just work his way up in the Ministry to being the minister and she could support him and be his campaign manager or something. Did the Wizarding world have campaign managers? She needed to look that up.

 

With only a few weeks left in the summer and dozens of potions now on the market under the Riddle line, Tom and Hermione decided to take one day to enjoy themselves and the beautiful lands around them. They spent a quiet morning on the dock reading books for pleasure, quite a break from dusty potion tome after smelly potion textbook. After mutually agreeing to go inside for a quick lunch, they spent the afternoon swimming in the lake, this time with their bathing suits, although Tom did protest that they needed to wear them. Hermione just had to ask him if he wanted the house elves to see his privates and tell Uncle Albus and the protesting stopped.

 

They spent the day laughing and relaxing, basically taking a vacation or as much of one as they could get without being able to leave the premises. After supper they took coffee out to the dock to watch the sun go down, Hermione put a charm on the dock to scare away the bugs.

 

Once again they both saw the black owl hooting from the trees just outside the wards, and without speaking decided to go back inside. Hermione could feel Tom’s tenseness, could see it in how he held his jaw and practically taste it in the air. She didn’t know what to do.

 

They had to head back to Hogwarts in a short while. They would be safe once they got there, but just like the trip home last year, they were vulnerable on the platform and on the train. Hermione brainstormed ideas—it wasn’t like they could pull a Ron and Harry and drive a flying car back to school. For Merlin’s safe, they were to be head boy and head girl, they couldn’t give that kind of negative example to the younger students. Dumbledore was counting on them. Well, on her.

 

They would just have to be extra vigilant, constantly vigilant, even. Perhaps there was a spell or charm she could place on Tom to add an extra layer of protection. He couldn’t even board the train as a tiger because that was too noticeable and all of Hogsmeade knew that was his animagus form.

 

Hermione almost made herself sick with worry and trying to find a solution. In the end she decided they were going to need help from Albus, and she knew Tom was going to hate that.

 

.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.

 

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I hate to do this, because I know how you and Tom feel about each other. But, I’d like to remind you that he is not the man you think he is or will be in the future. Unless we can keep him out of Grindelwald’s grasp, which brings me to why I’m writing. Tom is being courted by Grindelwald and after we were attacked at the Platform on our way home earlier this summer, I had hoped there would be a better solution to getting us to Hogwarts._

_I am terrified that he will try something again on our way to school. Do you have any suggestions on how we can safely get him to Hogwarts?  It’s not that I don’t think Tom can’t protect himself, quite the opposite, in fact. But I do worry about him using and defending himself against Dark Magic._

_Please let me know what I should do._

_Thank you,_

_Hermione_

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The night before they were set to leave, Tom surprised her with an extravagant dinner in the library. The elves had set up a long table, longer than necessary, right next to the window that overlooked Hermione’s Lake.

 

“What’s all this?” she asked him, already pulling a chair out for herself to sit down, taking in the beautiful centerpiece of hyacinths.

 

“Just a little thank you,” Tom told her, sitting across from her.

 

She raised a brow at him. “A thank you for what, exactly?”

 

“For letting me stay here.” He returned, trying to hide that damned vulnerability again. She got it, he couldn’t say thank you to Dumbledore—his pride wouldn’t allow him to, so he was saying it through her and the elves who would no doubt pass the message along to their boss.

 

“Well, you’re welcome. We certainly had a productive summer, haven’t we, Tom?”

 

“I’ll say cheers to that,” he replied, filling the two champagne glasses that Hermione hadn’t noticed at first. “Cheers,” he said cheekily, touching his glass to hers with a light clang.

 

They shared a wonderful dinner together, full of their favorite items noticed and made with love by the house elves. After they finished, Pinkie brought in dessert.

 

“Pinkie,” Hermione exclaimed, “you made me tiramisu? You know how much I adore it, thank you so much.” Pinkie turned red as she blushed.

 

“Miss does not need to thank Pinkie. Pinkie is just bringing miss her favorite.”

 

“Still,” Hermione said, feeling warm with the champagne she consumed earlier, “I appreciate everything you do for me. I always have.”

 

Pinkie perked up. “Then miss will enjoy this as well!” She snapped her fingers and a music box appeared out of nowhere, playing an upbeat tune. “The miss and little master should dance.” Pinkie said excitedly, her huge green eyes hopeful. Hermione couldn’t bear to erase that expression.

 

She looked over at Tom who had already wolfed down his portion of the tiramisu. _What?_ He asked with his mind, his mouth currently occupied.

 

“Let’s dance.” He looked stricken. _We have to, look at Pinkie’s face. Please?_ She added silently.

 

Tom gulped, swallowing his mouthful of dessert and got up out of his chair. Hermione felt her face relax, he was going to go along with it. “Of course, milady. Shall we?”

 

“Merlin, Tom. This isn’t 1842. Calm down.” She said as he took her hand and pulled her to him.

 

“Hermione, I have something to confess.” Tom said just as Hermione began to wonder why they hadn’t started dancing yet. “I don’t know how to dance.”

 

Hermione smiled at him, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “That’s okay. I’m not all that good, but we’ll manage.” _We just need to make Pinkie happy,_ she added silently.

 

Tentatively, Hermione grabbed Tom’s hand and placed it on her waist. It felt incandescent. It felt like she was leading him to touch her _everywhere_. It felt like the sweetest of sins, and yet… nothing was wrong with dancing. This was more innocent than that night at the lake, but it felt _significant_. It felt like change.

 

She slowly slid her fingers off his hand on her waist and slid her hand up that chiseled chest up to his shoulder, purposefully avoiding his eyes until the last second. When their eyes did finally meet, the air was charged, like all the electrons had left or more had come or something that she couldn’t quite remember from chemistry class so many years ago in her past life. His eyes flickered between blue and  gray, like they couldn’t make up their mind as to what color to be for the occasion.

 

Hermione licked her lips and cleared her throat. She’d been this close to him before, many times. She’d been this close to him naked earlier this summer, even, while they were wrestling in the lake. But she’d never been affected like this.

 

“Just follow my lead, okay? Until you can pick it up and take over the lead,” she whispered without knowing why. Maybe it was respecting the charge, but even a normal speaking voice would sound like a scream right now.

 

She moved and he followed, a little wobbly. They danced around the room in a dream. When Hermione noticed the change in lead, Tom pulled her even closer so that he could whisper in her ear, “Am I doing it right, Hermione?”

 

He caressed her name when it came out of his mouth and straight into her ear, his lips just barely touching the shell of her ear. “Yeah,” she spoke into his neck, the most she could manage. She was overwhelmed with his presence, and that never happened. This was just Tom, she told herself. Why was she having this reaction?

 

“Missy!” Pinkie’s voice broke her out of her spell.

 

She stepped out of Tom’s arms a little too quickly to be strickly polite. “Huh? I mean, yes, Pinkie?”

 

“Yous going to miss tiramisu if you don’t be eating it now.”

 

“What?”

 

“Miss’s tiramisu. You should eat it now.”

 

Hermione felt so stupid. “Right, of course. Thank you again, Pinkie.”

 

Tom herded back over to the table, and almost as if the spell were not completely broken, pulled her chair out and pushed it back in as she sat. He took his chair across from her and sipped the rest of his champagne while she ate the truly decadent dessert.

 

“This stuff is so bubbly,” He said out of nowhere. “I didn’t expect it to be bubbly when I requested it from the elves.”

 

He turned the now empty glass upside down and one drop rolled down the flute and flopped onto the table.

 

“Dear Merlin, Tom. Are you drunk?”

 

The fact that his face showed his surprise told her the answer. “Am I?” He asked her, himself, and the world at large. And burst out laughing.

 

Hermione put her head in her hands and she laughed as well, big belly laughs. “You are so wasted!” She accused, unable to keep the giggle out of her voice.

 

“So I am.” He said back. “I am so glad I spent this summer with you, Hermione. I almost don’t want to go back this year.”

 

“I know,” she responded, “I feel the exact same way. So many things are coming to a head. Your birthday, Grindelwald, N.E.W.T.s, and graduating—it’ll be a tough year.”

 

“Yeah and you have all those things, plus your boyfriend.”

 

Hermione felt a chill run through her body. Oh yeah, her boyfriend. Abraxas.

 

“We better get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow,” she said, “Something tells me it’s going to be bumpy.”

 

And Tom was certainly not going to like the plan Dumbledore had come up with. She dreaded telling him.


End file.
